


(You Can't Handle) Somebody Loving You

by hunkydorkling



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Angry Hawk (Derogatory), Chocolates because why not, Dumbass Demetri, F/M, Fluff and Humor, French (in a vague context), Implied Sexual Content, Intermittent Second Base Feelings, Jealous Hawk (Relatable), Love Conquers All, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Sparring, Subtle Doctor Who References, Subtle LawRusso, They're on couple's retreat, Valentine's Day, Wingman Miguel for the Win, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29265264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunkydorkling/pseuds/hunkydorkling
Summary: A few days left until Valentine's Day, and Demetri was living every nerd's dream. His plans were sure as set, until mysterious love notes kept flinging out of nowhere. Piqued, he turned to none other than his knowledgeable (and irritable) best friend, Hawk.[A Valentine's Day romantic comedy (???) for my fellow Binary Brothers shippers, in 6 parts]
Relationships: Demetri/Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz, Demetri/Yasmine, Miguel Diaz & Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz, Miguel Diaz/Samantha LaRusso
Comments: 32
Kudos: 96





	1. Fill in the Blanks

**Author's Note:**

> Valentine's Day is a week from now as of posting this fic, so I thought of whipping and whisking some tasty fluff to celebrate the impressive many who've shipped (and continue to ship) the Binary Brothers—doesn't matter if you have been since Day One or after Season 3. If you're anything like me (single, _hyperfixating_ , and bored), this could be a good fic to unwind with. I appreciate this sliver of the Cobra Kai fandom. 
> 
> If you're also into it, I've set up a playlist aid to help fill those visuals here, one song every updated chapter:  
> <http://spoti.fi/3aJizms>
> 
> Sit back, relax, and read how Demetri makes an absolute shit of himself. And Hawk too, I guess. Both of them are little shits _in love_. Happy Valentine's Week.

The clock that hung on the wall read thirty minutes ‘til lunchtime. Nothing had been more dreadful than waiting out the end of a class, but Hawk got more than a small window of time he can sink his mind into for a while.

So he chose to dwell about good ol’ _Valentine’s Day._

If anyone strongly opposed about the famed February holiday, you’d think a young, feeble boy like Eli was at the forefront of it. But on the contrary, the indifference couldn’t have been clearer, that is until he turned sixteen. He understood why the dreaded holiday was, well, _dreadful_ to virgins like him. Over the course of his late teenage years, he realized how valid it was to despise the celebration, in the same effect where he detested the idea of putting peanut butter on celery (oddly specific, yes). How particular these realizations had become, it eventually helped Eli lose all of his confidence and hopes to find someone lasting. And he wasn't even capable of growing a beard to compensate for it, though that's an interesting visual for another time. He’d always figured it was close to impossible to have a person love him, scars and all, unless that person was willing to embrace the scrutinies he had about himself.

And in Hawk’s eyes, it was also no different. A year since flipping the script, he was living in the best version of his own world— as long as he feigned confidence through his raging hair, it toppled everything he missed out on for all the previous Valentine’s Days. How it grew in mileage, well… that was short-lived, romantically.

There was no arguing that Hawk was smart enough to know why. That's a given. How he _approached_ it, however, was where trouble _always_ lied. Always. These ideas of him refusing to accept his shortcomings, both as a friend and a student, were in front of him, all of which he kept deflecting with denial—with anger that was well out of its place.

So was he feeling anger now, at English class, thinking about all the things he could’ve done differently? _Maybe_. But it was in knowing that he’ll have to deal with fixing himself and counting what was left in his life that gave him hope. He was thankful enough hope had found its way to him.

It was about a few days until it was officially a week left before Valentine’s Day. For events like these, the school held proactive parades that championed all kinds of love, which were evidently _half-baked_ given this school’s track record, along with the rest of their school programs. Even went as far as throwing condoms to provide safe sex among its student body, which anyone with raging hormones can consider as buy-in. Though Hawk, he wasn’t sure if he was _supposed_ to do anything about it, himself—it's not like he _had_ girls to shag. But hey, the message here was that people should love who they want to love. Good on them that they _had_ someone to love. 

He had about a few minutes left until lunchtime, but he sat still in silence, not caring any less during the lecture, head still. Hawk couldn’t have picked a better class to comfortably slack in—not like he wasn’t already willingly slacking off in the others, but it was fun to note. Figured having a mohawk this great _and_ getting straight A’s was neither too badass nor straightedge enough. Call it a happy medium. 

And speaking of straightedge, his fingers found themselves running along the edge of his notebook, mind spaced out as he thought about the same “problem” that plagued his head, especially during this time. Bizarrely, his train of thought landed on Demetri. Or, at least, at the back of his head. He couldn't believe he grew _even taller_ these past few months. He was caught in between looking at their teacher and writing notes. His dancing pen caught his attention for a while.

They’d been… cool with each other a while after the incident. It had been months in the making—every other week, they’d spar, either as part of the joint dojo’s skill training, or synchronization exercise while being paired up by two’s. But in the case of bringing back their traditions as friends, it was nil. There was no arguing; it was a foolish thing to believe that nothing had changed… except him, and maybe the way Demetri saw him. Though he _was_ more sure he was secure with Demetri back, there was that inherent struggle to form something new. Nowadays he wasn’t sure where his exact place was in their relationship.

Training wasn’t for another week (Sensei Lawrence and Sensei LaRusso took the time off to go on some _couples’ therapy_ , they all joked); the kids were faced with more downtime than they’ve had since the Christmas break, so as long as they kept practicing amongst themselves, they had less of a risk to set the dojo on fire. It was no problem because they all saw the common goal (which would be a death wish if they didn’t). So now might be the right opportunity to reset those things he _was_ capable of resetting.

He looked down at his own notebook; no notes have been written, save for random scribbles. Mostly a "badass" caricature of himself. When the bell rang, a flicker of an idea started to shine.

As the teacher dismissed them, he shoved his things in a bag and looked for Miguel once he was out of the classroom. 

* * *

_Making out has never been so fulfilling, so erotic_.

Up until this point, Demetri wasn’t sure if he was willing to put a label on this hot and fiery frenzy he had with Yasmine. For a few weekends at a time, they’ve hung around each other’s faces—mostly _groped_ each other—but anything past that was more so uncharted territory. Pandora’s box, if you will. There was a certain level of buzz Demetri earned in being bossed around, which was thrilling for a change, especially when done by the opposite sex— so he realized. Yasmine held the title of being the only girl he was willing to practice kissing for. _More_ practice, that is, on account of all the years it took for him to finally transition from spit-drenched pillowcases to cherry-flavored lipbalms. The rest of his romantic life had been constantly yearning to get about 90% of the _ideal_ timeline right, in order to score a hot woman. 

But who cares. Yasmine was a _smoking_ hot outlier to his plan. Point for all the nerds of the universe, right?

Demetri held it against him to think of all these invasive thoughts, as he actively groped Yasmine’s ass (“Do you want me to squeeze both cheeks equally?” he asked, unsure if favorite sides were a thing), making her moan a little more distinctively compared to the usual he’d heard. Where there were moans, there were enough materials for a night under the blankets. The growth inside his pants was angry.

He wasn't willing to talk about _some nights_. No, some nights left him dealing with unfulfilled—and eventually depressing— realizations that a girl like Yasmine wouldn’t be ready to fully commit to an _actual_ relationship. Or marriage. Or dying together. So settling for the next best thing while it’s around? He needed to savor it for as long as it was there. 

And savor it very, _very_ well he did today, during the relaxed hours of lunchtime, under the bleachers, with two hands that scooped up Yasmine’s gluteal sulcus and mounded through her short pleather skirt. He might as well be full from the tonsil hockey alone. 

Yasmine parted the kiss, lips flushed with blood circulation, lipstick now smeared all over the corners of Demetri’s lips. As she pulled back, he couldn't quite decipher the look in her eyes—was she dissatisfied? 

“You’re getting better,” _What a relief,_ he said to himself, as she whispered seductively in his ear, a hand snaking up his shirt, all the way down to the garters of his boxers, just an inch short from his emerging growth. “But _don’t_ get too cocky.” 

It warranted a gulp from Demetri, and a curt nod. The surge of excitement he got was enough to last for an entire week tops, but he had to restrain himself, and _hopefully not show it on his face_. Yasmine would have to settle with the most intense and lustful gaze he gave to make sure she knows it’s reciprocated.

Yasmine twitched back. “What’s with your eyes?” 

Demetri did a double take. Okay, maybe he overdid it. _Shit._ “N-Nothing, this is… fine, I’m _fine_.” Eyebrow wiggling. “Same time and place tomorrow?” 

“Whenever and _wherever_ I say we will.” With one final, pretentious shove, she left the underside of the bleachers just as the bulk of the soccer team came in from practice. She turned back halfway. “Leave after five minutes or else I will hunt you.” The tall boy nodded shortly even though he’d heard this rule practically every time they sneaked around. It was slight annoyance to him, and if only he wasn’t turned on and left to agonize where he stood, he’d continue to peg on the thought about their future.

Was he willing to go through that, as a casual relationship? _Maybe._

Screw it—of course he is. About damn time, too.

First order of business would definitely be to get her into _Magic: The Gathering_ , and this was non-negotiable. But then—crap, there’s also more to be said about his fashion sense, so he had to prepare for that, too. Pretty soon, he spaced off long enough to meet the five-minute delay Yasmine had set for him to leave. This girl ran his world in the best (or possibly the worst?) way possible… but it might be well worth it. 

He was walking out in the open when his stomach growled. “Oh fuck, _lunch_.”

* * *

Demetri had his _actual_ lunch within the last fifteen minutes he had left over (“Hey, you might wanna… slow down on the— _oh_ , okay.” Miguel uttered, letting the lanky kid shove spoon after spoon inside his mouth). The last five minutes had him scrambling up to his locker to get his Chemistry book. His one-track brain only thought about heading to class and ending it early. 

As he pulled out what he needed, a piece of paper folded in three fell abruptly by his shoes. Confused, he retraced his thoughts. DId he leave stray paper? Not likely, he was pretty organized. But he slowly picked it up regardless, looked around, almost hesitating, and then unfolded it. 

The words read:

_My point is probably moot_   
_And right now, I’m in a great deal of delirium_   
_So here goes… what makes you similar to Copper and Tellurium?_

_Well, you both are... CuTe._

_See you in chemistry._

This was… some decent attempt to be a Twain and Mendeleev fusion, and Demetri’s confused eyebrows met in the middle. His heart raced a few seconds after realizing the fact.

Could it be that this… was _another_ admirer?

Well, isn’t this getting too heated! Something definitely danced inside of him. Though he was at peace with the fact that his popularity’s on some kind of plateau right now, he accepted his chances to find out whom it’s from.

As he stashed the folded paper in his left back pocket and closed his locker, he felt a sudden and stinging pressure _slap_ his rear end. He turned to his left—none— but from his peripheral he saw a tuft of blonde drift in the air. Demetri turned the other way and familiar curves passed by. Yasmine sneakily glanced his way, smirking. He couldn’t have been more confused than today. Premature conclusions were setting off in his head like fireworks.

The bell rang, prompting him to shrug it off, so he knew he needed to prepare for Lab. He’ll have to keep his focus and work on it later in class.


	2. What A Fool Believes

If he ever had to admit to being clueless, you might as well give him a death sentence—or a hot wedgie. Because Demetri _always_ sought to solve puzzles, and when there was something that needs to be solved, he rose to the occasion. It's what he was good at.

As long as they were, say, quadratic equations for slope solving for example. This was _different._

He just _couldn’t_ make sense of this note. It had a pick-up line, sure. But it came from whom?

_From whom?_

“How should I know how her handwriting looks?” Hawk broke his line of questioning, easily snapping him back to the scene. The trio of nerds partnered up for a lab experiment involving pH levels—litmus paper, different kinds of liquids, alkalinity-acidity mumbo jumbo. And at this point in time, Hawk was consistent in holding a sour face towards Demetri's paper. He smirked before throwing it his way, in very disinterested fashion, which the other boy was able to catch just in time for it to float its way towards the edge of their table. At least he confirmed his thoughts right. _This_ was how he knew his best friend would react.

“Besides,” Hawk continued. “You’re already mauling each other’s faces off. It’s redundant.” 

And man was Hawk brutal. It only took Demetri one question, and somehow the other spewed more words than he’d anticipated. The ex-rebel continued to glance back and forth from the beakers to his notebook, jotting down what seemed to be key points to their guide questions. Demetri gave up, and turned to the next person whose counsel he heavily relied on.

“What do you think?” he asked Miguel next. From the corner of Hawk's eye, he saw Miguel lean in, reaching over him to grab the piece of paper from Demetri’s outstretched hand. He continued to mind his own business and tapped his ballpoint pen like a drum. 

“Do you recognize the handwriting?” The brown boy probed, studying the way letters looped.

Demetri shrugged. “No. And if I did, I’d say they’re purposely trying to _throw_ me off. If this is one of those pranks again, so help me—”

“Last five minutes, everyone, then we’ll reconvene for reporting.” Mr. Galloway announced, cutting Demetri mid-sentence and giving him the opportunity to wig out. _Crap,_ distraction hit again. Good thing Hawk was there, because he slid his notebook towards Demetri and pointed to a portion of his notes. “There. Copy the findings and shut up. You’ve been bitchin’ about it for too long that you forgot to answer your part, so I answered it for you.” 

Demetri was dumbfounded, and Miguel could only snicker as he scribbled away to finish the rest of his sentences, adding to his friend’s comment. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Might just be a silly prank.”

That it could be. The premise was glaring that it almost felt odd how it _wasn’t_ given more time to marinade. A note in the locker? Very romcom. But he couldn’t escape the thoughts that plagued his mind thereafter; flakes from his hopes still went and thought it could be Yasmine. And didn’t girls make the first move nowadays? The letter did say they’d see each other in Chemistry. Demetri scanned to his left, and luckily enough saw long, blonde hair, belonging to the back of someone whose clothes were unfamiliar. When he caught the profile, he realized it wasn't her. What was her name? He couldn't bother following that thought up.

False hope was what came to mind next. It became a hobby to suckle on the idea like it was a Tootsie pop. And as if transposed to a wet dream, he recalled how his nostrils took in her scent of designer perfume (what it was, he couldn’t care to identify). His thoughts were pathetically preoccupied by _her_.

The pale nerd frowned. He eventually sunk his head into his notebook for the rest of the period.

* * *

It was the next day. Movement all throughout has been pretty mundane: the boys had four out of five classes together, so in between those, they would throw discreet punches and blocks in the hallways—wherever, so long as Counselor Blatt wasn’t around. All in good fun and then some, of course. Other than that, all days have been treated fairly the same. On many occasions during the end of a class by the lockers, Demetri caught Yasmine share a gaze with him that locked for less than five seconds. They were sharp as they were bewildering. Almost looked… repulsed, to a degree. This was one of the many times they’d put up these classist personas when they were out in the open. When he focused on their activity, however, it made his heart beat faster… faster…

_**CLAP!** _

Snapping back, he caught Hawk with his hands in front of the lanky boy, post-clap, as he slowly came to a conclusion that he was pissed. “Hey Eros, did you hear me? I said we’re hitting the library. Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… huh.” Out of the blue, he saw a stray corner of paper peek out, sandwiched in between the cover of his History book. While Hawk was looking increasingly impatient by his noncommittal stance, Demetri placed the said book under his arm as he pulled on the paper. His eyes widened.

_Another one._

It should have come from the same person. Oh, it _definitely_ came from the same person. For some reason, they were elusive enough to keep sneaking these letters in places he hadn't thought to look as frequently(History was a mundane subject to Demetri, if he were to be frank). He beckoned Hawk to come closer. “Look, it’s the note again!” Demetri brought it close to his nose to savor in a probable scent. The paper didn't peculiarly smell like anything.

“Gee, would you look at that.” Disinterested. Hawk could only glance away.

Unfazed by his apathy, Demetri pursed his lips as he exhaled a soft one through his nostrils. He braced for an unexpected one as he processed the words, one by one:

_Your words have kept me in awe.  
_ _And made me like libraries, who knew? But...  
_ _Mon endroit préféré c’est avec toi.  
_

_Translation: My favorite place is with you._

_Passing by the library later. Come find me._

  
  


The lankier boy couldn’t help but flail to express his violent—yet goofy—reaction, and with this series of mixed emotions. Someone _actually thought_ he was their home. But who could this be? They'd have to be within the same circle as he was, and if it wasn't in karate circle (for obvious reasons), it was possible they came from one of his online gaming groups. More and more suppositions rammed his head, along with majority of his excitement.

Meanwhile, Hawk was left to scowl in irritation. Yes, took all of the imagery the other boy was displaying. Only the incongruous sounds coming from Demetri’s excited mouth filled their space, so the mohawk-head had to take matters into his own hands. 

His fingers dug into the cloth, by the collar of the shirt that said _ManGOOD Job!_ (with a smiling, personified mango holding two thumbs up), and yanked him to where he wanted to direct his feet. As they walked away, Demetri’s distant exclamation of “Another one, _another_ one!” faded and sunk in the noise of the busy student body.

* * *

“Okay, if you spot Yasmine, let me know. I wonder if I should practice—h-hey, how does my smolder look?” It took Demetri everything in him to pucker up everything on his face.

Which took Hawk almost nothing to slam. “You look constipated.”

Demetri almost broke his voice, but in a very discreet way to avoid getting in trouble. “This is serious! I _have_ to tell her.”

“Tell her _what_ , exactly?” Hawk retorted for the nth time, sneaking out a small bag of Funyuns from his backpack and tearing it open as he spoke in a high-pitched voice, moaning almost. “Oh, _Yasmine_ , I know you’ve been writing me these poems. Why don’t you scooch on over here so I can make you my wife?” He threw a ring in his mouth, crunching it loudly. “Pfft, please. Haven’t you humiliated yourself enough.”

“Correction: I’ve _yet_ to humiliate myself, that's why going all out is the next best—or _worst—_ thing. That’s the whole point of my faltering dignity, anyway. Might as well reap what's left while I still can.” Demetri brushed the fingers of both of his hands through his hair, actively combing and styling. Two fingers from each hand brushed down his sideburns. “Do you think she’ll ask me out before Valentine’s Day? I need to get ready and shave.”

Hawk rubbed his temples, groaned, and shoved the bag of Funyuns back into his backpack. “Do you hear yourself? Where the hell is— there you are!” He shoved his chair back and approached Miguel, who jolted and edged away just a tad from Hawk closing in on their space. “I am going to _kick_ him in the ‘nads, he won’t shut up!”

“ _Ssssh!_ ” The sound seemed to come from the far corner of the library, but Hawk didn’t pay any mind. If he was pissed, it could only go uphill, whatever the cause was. He shifted back to the Ecuadorian, whose face softened into a smirk—but he didn't know what he barged into. A hunch, for sure. But he continued to look for answers, and so his wide eyes inquired, shifting from Hawk to Demetri.

From the desk, Demetri twisted his back and showed him his “famous” smolder, before speaking in a low voice. “I know it’s her, okay. And if it doesn’t end up being her, hey, I still get the build up to have my virginity taken away on Valentine’s Day. On _Valentine’s Day_ , my friends. The risk is high, but the stuff of my fantasies are slowly coming to fruition.”

“You know what you sound like? A pathetic _nerd_.” Hawk retorted, in the most mocking tone he'd given Demetri to date, also hinting heat. By this time, his eyes were set on Miguel, who was already a few steps past the angry boy and placing a bag down on the desk. If he was enjoying the exchange, he might as well say it right now, because _Hawk was really pissed off._

Demetri bit back as he argued. “Well, who else would be smart enough to write two _very romantic_ poems for two days straight? Miguel, aren’t you taking up a French elective?”

“... Yeah,” It was an otherwise odd question to follow up with, that is until he formed his initial assumption. He glanced at Hawk, who shifted to look at something else before reflecting an inquisitive at Demetri. “Uh, why?”

“Maybe—Maybe she's in your French class, too. I-is Yasmine there?”

“Well, y-yeah? I don’t really—”

“ _BINGO, BINGO!_ ” Demetri shot up and wailed, thrusting his pelvis, which warranted a final scolding from the head librarian. “I’m going to have to kick all three of you out.”

Demetri stammered, placing his palms in front of himself. “S-Sorry, we won’t make any more noise.” To prove his point, he sat down. The rest of the boys followed suit, compliant, and that seemed to do the trick, although it did warrant a glare from both the boys.

As the librarian was leaving, Hawk clenched his jaw and uttered lowly, leaning towards the pale nerd. “You are _delusional_.”

“And _you’re_ a killjoy. I thought you’d understand of all people. Aren’t you tired of us spending Valentine’s Day together?”

Miguel looked at the two argue in hushed voices, feeling the tension rise, and whatever was going on between the both of them felt like it needed to be brought anywhere _but_ the library, for consideration. “Okay, you two need to pipe it down.” He uttered, before he turned to face Demetri and ignoring Hawk’s beeline walk towards the isle of books. “Can I see the note?”

Demetri reached down in his bag and fished out the note. When he handed it to the brown boy, it was all creased in places. Eh, it’ll do.

Miguel silently read and studied the letter, then flicked his eyes at Hawk, who was a little occupied trying to pull random titles from their spots in the bookshelf. He nodded some. Every so often, Hawk shot a sharp look at Miguel, almost as if he was sending a telepathic, yet sheepish message. A response, along with the folded the paper reached back. “Look, Demetri… Don’t you think you need to give it more thought? Sounds like you’re over-analyzing it. This could be anyone with a harmless crush. What would you do if it’s not Yaz?”

“ _Impossible_ ,” Demetri scoffed, with enough emphasis than he’d be willing to admit. Defeat wasn’t an option, or however the Cobra Kai slogan went. But the words were definitely getting through him like a bread knife slicing styrofoam. Unsettling, and obnoxiously loud. All his energy waned right after, reality taking its place. “... who else would even like me at this rate if not her?”

Hawk turned over his shoulder and sent a glare behind Demetri’s head. He won’t be able to parry that—or so he thought, because right then and there the pale nerd twisted back again to meet the glare _specifically_ for him. And parry it with the same intensity he did. 

What Hawk’s deal was, he didn’t know. But not now.

Miguel sighed, putting the note down. “Don’t say that. I’m sure someone will come forward eventually. And if you need any help figuring that out, we’re here.” He faced Hawk’s direction. The look his friend gave was much softer now, almost as if he was telling something. Something unsaid in this connection. “We’ll help him out, won’t we?”

It took the ex-rebel a couple of seconds delay in uttering his reply, but he walked and hovered between the space where both the boys sat and shot a meaningful look at Demetri before saying: “Yeah, sure. But I’m not sticking around to see how much of a _jackass_ he’s acting. Now if you _pansies_ will excuse me, I have better things to do, like practice. In case you haven’t noticed, we have a tournament to prepare for.” Hawk snatched his backpack and threw it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well—don’t let the door hit your _ass_ on the way out!”

Hawk pointed his hand to the arched opening. "There is no _door_ , meathead!"

With one final reply, he was gone.

It took a while for him to speek, but he huffed shortly after. “Geez,” Demetri folded the second note back and kept it in the front pocket of his backpack. “What’s _his_ deal?”

Miguel shrugged, opening his backpack to remove his notebook. Some conclusions definitely made sense and were drawn, though for now he had to keep it to himself. The air still felt awkward, but at least it was half expunged. He now knew how ridiculous they acted when they bickered.

“I mean… I really thought he’d be supportive of me. He was the one to give me that push in the first place! Man, you should have _heard_ his advice, it went something like... live in the moment _yadda yadda._ So McConaughey. And that’s what I don’t understand—who’s he to talk _now?"_

The brown boy shook his head, actively listening as he scanned his notes. Although they were friends longer, Miguel felt like he was learning more about this version of Demetri than Hawk would have offered himself. It was a complex experience being in between them, especially with the joint dojos, but he had to give it to himself for being a decent pacifist.

Demetri leaned his back adjacent to the uncomfortable mahogany chair as he continued talking. “Before chicks came along, man... Valentine’s Day was just a normal weeknight of making an ass of ourselves Then of course karate happened… then the Christmas _showdown_ …”

“I—I was there, Demetri.”

“That you _were_ … but ah, anyway. Let’s leave him to his devices. He can go set himself up with some junkie for all I care. I’m going to straighten things out with Yasmine officially.” 

Miguel fixed his eyes at Demetri as he slumped his shoulders, looming towards the entrance where the ghost of Hawk had lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demeathead—we love to see it.


	3. We Got It Goin' On

**THUD!**

What sounded like a back-breaking hit was, in fact, the sound of what he would define the phrases: _heat of the moment_.

_There was absolutely no stopping a dweeb on a streak._

And while it certainly _did_ feel like Demetri’s spine cracking, it was only the clamor of the cleaning equipment, which were probably a few Purex bottles and some wooden brushes (who knows). What happened now was far more important than some useless tidbit, and with Yasmine constantly trying to press herself to Demetri’s scrawny figure, it became harder to think. Plus it smelled like bleach...

...in the janitor’s closet. 

_Where rats are possibly housing themselves in._

Well… neither of them seemed to care that it was dark; there was no retaliation on account of how _good_ things were happening for this fraction of the moment. Yasmine forcefully and passionately tried to pin him flush against the steel cabinet as they played aggressive tonsil hockey. This girl wasn’t playing, and part of Demetri’s game plan was to edge it to the next level while he had the opening.

Demetri’s bony hands were perched on the mounds of her shoulders. Slowly, he snaked their way down to her arms, adjacent to her bosom. _Steadily,_ he thought. As soon as the tips of his digits brushed the slopes of her breasts, Yasmine was the first to break contact, slapping his fingers away in reflex, her bracelets jangling in the process.

_Tense._ A long pause and heavy breathing filled the darkness, and it took a while before the blond responded sternly. “What do you think you’re _doing?_ ”

He was sure to fall into a fumbling fit, so he had to process his words _very carefully_. Rapid blinking. Does he go for the sexy charlatan or virgin puritan route? Think. _Don’t keep her hanging._

Didn’t she say he was getting better? Why not go the extra mile? “I was… gonna… squeeze your breasts?” 

“And who told you you can?” 

“Well, weren’t you the one who said I was getting better?” 

“At _kissing_. Nerds.” Her bracelets produced clanging sounds once more, and if her very ambiguous figure gave him any clue as to what she was doing, he’d say she was removing her hair tie. She shook her head as a release and in disbelief, which made him frown. “ I need to go—”

"Wait—" Before Yasmine could even so much as turn around, he stopped her by the cottoned shoulder. Yasmine groaned in irritation, letting Demetri take control of what should have been the end of their conversation. 

“I… I wanted to ask you out on the 14th. Preferably around seven? I-If you’re not free, t-that’s also totally cool! But I, uh… I wanna take you out on a proper date. I know I tell you an awful lot about Dungeon Lord, so… you could tell me your favorite stuff. Or show me. I know you wear a lot of clothes from Forever21, I think it’s pretty neat.”

He was half expecting a reaction, mostly because it was hard to tell what was happening in the dark, but Demetri felt the looming confusion and hesitation in the air. For a moment, she slowly closed the space in between them, an inch away from their lips meeting. Yasmine whispered against his lips. “Ew.”

Demetri was ready to crumble. Good thing his face wasn’t visible, or else this moment would never die. He wasn't sure if she was putting up the same familiar front or genuinely feeling the disgust.

But afterwards, there was a soft exhalation. “Meet me at Northridge at _exactly_ six. Bath & Body Works.” She traced two fingers along his jawline, then down to his Adam’s apple. Demetri gulped. “I need some… body cream,” she said seductively. “Maybe you can help me with that instead. I can’t go past eight, so you better have something nice planned out.”

Demetri opened his mouth and uttered a vowel, and was abruptly cut off when Yasmine placed a finger against it. “And make _sure_ you dress nicely. That excludes your _horrible_ shirts.”

He was _fulfilled_ , and swore he heard a familiar Neverwinter Nights song echo at the cavernous space inside his brain, which was filled with nothing more than Yasmine being her potential date. Demetri was grinning like a goof. “Oh, I am _so_ there. Okay. Okay!” 

A last slap to his chest, Yasmine gathered her purse and peeked outside, light leaking and making the lanky boy squint for a second. Her figure disappeared, and he was left alone by himself again. The five minutes started with—

_Squeak squeak…_

“S-Shit—!” He bolted without a second to lose, and was gone, too.

* * *

Hawk _hated_ it when things didn’t work in his favor. It’s not called _being spoiled_ , either, but—what _was_ this called, really? Even saying those words back was an understatement in itself. When he was pissed, he got… _more_ pissed. In split seconds. When he was relaxed, he was _cool._ But as of late, all he ever did was slam several things away, like projectiles almost, that barred his way. That was what he eventually did to his books, unloading from the backpack to his locker with force enough to make nearby kids jump and give a confused glance. From one haphazard pull, his open bag of (forgotten) Funyuns fell, as few pieces scattered on the floor. “Damn it—”

As he reached down, he saw a pair of familiar sneakers. When he tried to stand straight, he trailed up and saw Miguel, donning a knowing smirk.

“So,” He started, and Hawk could already tell he had some detailed explaining to do—whatever he _chose_ to explain, of course. “You weren’t writing a note for Moon after all, huh?” Miguel slowly curled his lips some more, amused with this newly-processed information he had. 

“When did I say that? I only wanted to borrow your notes to see if I can say _shit_ in French.” Hawk blocked his face further with the locker door in between them. Shoved his Funyuns in there, too, without even bothering to keep it closed. He’ll have to deal with stale snacks next week.

Miguel leaned his head on the neighboring locker door, hands clinging to his backpack’s strap and waiting. “You have a crush on Demetri and didn’t tell me.” 

“Because I don’t,” He slammed his locker and faced him, hands dug inside his pockets. Hawk appeared softer than the daggers he’d thrown his other best friend, but he knew even those were insincere. He continued explaining: “He’s getting too cocky and I wanna put him in his place. Some fun would do him good, see how he’d react. Now we know what it looks like.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have an idea _how_ he looked considering _you’re his best friend._ ”

“It’s funny, okay.” _But is it really?_

“Yeah, except you don’t seem to be having a grand time.”

The thing right now—which he _hated_ , naturally—was that it was so _easy_ to tell when Hawk was being cornered. What he couldn’t compensate for wit at the moment, he resorted to quickly-timed decisions, like the bursts of kicks and hits he threw. 

But when Hawk was squared, especially by Miguel, he’d rather just face facts and be done with it. It was just Miguel, and he poked _his_ own version of fun in interrogating Hawk these days. He just wished it didn’t happen out in the open; anyone could easily eavesdrop in on the speculation and treat it as truth. Which was no surprise; students at West Valley High were always hungry for gossip.

His eyes were roaming practically everywhere _but_ Miguel’s, and fingernails were scratching the inner cloth of his pants pockets. Miguel attempted to press further, softly. “Is that the _only_ thing you’re after?”

Hawk shifted his gaze away. Beckoned him as he led the way. “Let’s go to the field.” 

* * *

Lower classmen— an estimate of six and a half, said half being a pipsqueak—had their after-school soccer practice. No coaches seemed to be anywhere in sight, too, so this was the perfect opportunity for some open sparring without any adult hopping on their case. As the sun cast a few shadows, the two boys took turns practicing various strikes, kicks, and blocks, some of the moves both their senseis assigned as homework while they were away. This idea was perfect, as Miguel needed to amp up his strength, especially his leg power. For both of them, this was a cinch.

Hawk could only smile and give it to Miguel for bouncing back quickly, as if he wasn’t almost beaten to a pulp two months back. The admiration he had for this boy was insurmountable. But right now, he had to safeguard whatever he had to say. This wasn’t venting out—it was good cop interrogation.

Miguel practiced the front snap kick (a basic karate move, although his power could use some work). His shoe was pointed down, his stance stable. The other boy, he held out Miguel’s emptied bag as a kick target. “So,” Miguel initiated, focused both on the topic and his footing. “You’re telling me you set up those notes to—to hype him up and make him realize he’s… gullible?”

Hawk held his grip on the bag. “Yeah. A simp.”

He switched stances, right leg active. “By posing as his... _admirer_.”

“Yup.”

“In Spanish we actually call that _la infatuación._ ”

The mohawk-head showed a face of disgust, breaking for five seconds to remove his shirt. Hawk caught the setting sun from a distance before swinging the makeshift target, ushering the boy to kick again. He mindfully parried the hit. “It’s not…” A sigh. “It’s not ‘ _la infatuación’_ . It’s more like… like seeing if he can hold his breath underwater until he rises up, and realize he _can’t hold_ it for long. It’s a _luring_ technique, man. I’m testing him.” He blocked the next kick the other boy threw, squinting at the setting sun before moving in a semicircle. 

“But why are you _really doing_ it?”

_Nerve one was stricken._ He continued, a genuine tone apparent in his voice: “... I’ve hurt him many times. Some in more ways than I was aware of. But then he took me back, even though a part of me believed he could have gone without me after all the shit I did. So that—” He repositioned and gripped the bag properly. “—only proves he _never_ knows when he needs to leave, even if the odds kicked him in his stupid face.“ Hawk brought the hand that held the bag down, stepped back, and let Miguel wipe the beads of sweat forming and dripping down his forehead. “Pretty soon it’ll happen with Yasmine, and he’ll keep running back to her and repeat the cycle and get hurt again. For a straight-A, he doesn't seem to act like it. And he doesn't know it.” 

“No, I think he knows. It’s just that—Yasmine could be his first girlfriend. You know love does that to us boys.”

Hawk scoffed again. “Hardly.”  
  


  
“Dude, just let him go through that process himself.” Miguel sent a kick to him again, higher this time. Hawk adjusted accordingly. “I personally think your plan’s backfiring, that’s all. He’s so convinced it’s her. So where do _you_ come in?”

The question suspended in the air longer than the intention he had to grab it. Hawk… wasn’t sure himself. And if this was his plan along, why was it that he vaguely saw the point of doing it now? He wanted to teach Demetri something, big whoop. But there was a thought that presented itself as: what if he was coating this scheme with an even _bigger_ situation that had yet to be unfolded? 

Besides, the emotions that waved in front of him these past few days didn’t really feel like his, or even _Eli’s,_ possibly. They were just like feathers floating, painfully slow in the air that Hawk had the liberty to ogle at. _Painfully, painfully slow._

So he snapped back, sharpening his manners and shifted to _another_ example of a bigger picture. “Him having a girlfriend’s no good if he wants to win the tournament.”

“Eh, I don’t know. I think it helps to have someone to _feel_ things with.”

“Whose side are you on!” He slammed Miguel’s bag down against his right foot.

Miguel continued, powering through his left leg, grinning yet panting. “Are you sure you’re not just jealous—”

“I am not _jealous!_ ” Hawk took the opportunity to send a surprise kick aimed to Miguel’s solar plexus, to which he blocked with both his wrists. He staggered back and blinked for a few seconds before shooting him an incredulous look. Hawk continued: “What, just because he’s got _that_ skank? I’ve made it clear—I’m just helping him realize he can do better.”

The Ecuadorian boy, frazzled, didn’t want the fire in this other boy to scatter up its way to him. Though he was going to play _his_ cards right and say what he meant. “But it _also, quite clearly,_ means you care about him, too, Hawk. A whole lot. Maybe even _too_ much. And I don’t think anyone who _doesn’t_ have feelings for someone can get worked up the way you are.” 

_Nerve two was stricken._ Hawk didn’t retort. All he could muster up was a clenched jaw and his signature flared nostrils. “He’s naive!” 

“And so were _you_. Experiences aren’t a one-size fits all thing, so let him mess up if he messes up. He’ll learn from it like you did from Moon. Okay? What you can do is make him feel that you’re there for him. And _you will be._ ” 

There was sincerity in Miguel’s voice, and—

A soccer ball almost hit Hawk, to which he evaded just in time. It did, however, _make his mohawk look crooked._ Pressed, the angered boy grabbed the ball and aggressively set it down. As Miguel watched from where he stood, Hawk walked four steps back and sent the yellow ball flying, shooting up the sky and arching all the way to the other edge of the field, along with a death glare directed to the kids. 

“ _SCRAM!_ ”

The short pipsqueak backed away, petrified, and ran towards another teammate, who also made a mental note not to make that mistake again. They scrambled away and continued their practice.

Hawk turned back to face Miguel, realizing he… wasn’t wrong. When he made his point of comparison about Moon, the ex-rebel found himself with more sympathy for Demetri, and no drive to really argue. The but’s that came all at once before, slowly left one by one as he tried to understand that maybe his feelings—whatever they were—needed to be closed in a jar until he had the liberty and privilege to speak about it. _As a best friend._ That part's clear as day. _  
_

“Are you still gonna write more? Valentine’s Day is in two days.” 

“I don’t know.” Hawk replied, wiping sweat off of his own forehead. The tone of his voice was softer this time around as he hung his head. He picked up his shirt as he tried to sling his arm around one hole. “I haven’t thought far. Probably not.”

Seeing an opening, Miguel took this chance and kicked Hawk’s sleeved arm, sending him staggering to his knees. The mohawk head turned to him, almost looking betrayed for a moment, but afterwards he felt like returning a smirk. His arms continued to put on his shirt. "Point for Diaz!"

Suddenly, both the boys heard someone was shouting into the open; it was Demetri. “Guys… guys!” 

The lanky nerd was panting, catching his breath. It took him a while to spit out what he needed to say, but after a gulp, he started. “I’ve been… I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys.”

“What is it?” Hawk asked, straightening the hem of his shirt.

“It’s a go. I finally… have a date… on _Valentine’s Day_.” 

Hawk and Miguel looked at each other, almost simultaneously, and Hawk couldn’t hide his frown. The sun had set and left a purple hue to the rest of the field. Not long after, the soccer field’s lights were turned on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all Demetri/Yasmine rioters: I promise this is the last second base action you'll read. And to set your expectations, Demetri will get _none_. Poor guy.
> 
> I also wanna leave you with some possible visuals of Hawk wearing his shirt on with that hair. You're welcome!


	4. An Ode To Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're about two chapters into the end of the fic, and nearing into Valentine's Day. Now this chapter's a little unorthodox; by that, I meant it is an equal mix of funny and serious, and you'll see why. Anyhoo, enjoy. Send some love or thoughts in the comments!

What do you wear on a date? More importantly: what do you wear on a date _with a hot girl?_

There should be something like this in a handbook titled: “How to Successfully Date Someone Who Is Out Of Your League”, subtext: “(And How NOT To Not Die The Following Day)”.

Demetri chuckled to himself. He’d buy and swear the fuck by that book.

It was a good laugh. But because it was officially a day before Valentine’s Day, he knew better than to distract himself with his absurd humor. Demetri was panicking. Yes, _panicking_. It was the first date he’ll have in his aggressively virgin life-- the ones with Eli, he wasn’t sure if he’d count those, but for the sake of today, a date with a girl is as good as it gets.

Now, if only he can find out _where_ that good was, he’ll take ten. And some breath strips. _And_ a boat load of confidence. He was getting ready.

Hawk on the other hand, he was already at the mall to “help Demetri look more worthy”. He was too engrossed in his own thoughts and teetered on the edge of two pits: one was the go-to route— _anger_ , and the other one—indifference, which was by far the safer option. With the latter, he had less of a chance to beat Demetri to a pulp for his pathetic actions, plus the benefit of it was that he’d keep his tabs on his best friend. But another angle to this was that, through the course of this sick holiday, he had the unfortunate opportunity of seeing him get hurt through a potential heartbreak. And It’s not like he _wanted_ to do the hurting—the least he could do to the boy was punch his arm or kick his shin if he chose anger—but he vowed never to hurt him the way he did again. 

_You’re here to guide and protect him,_ Hawk said inwardly. That was the bookmark he needed to keep this operation risk- and casualty-free. Though it would have been best to have the _other_ best friend together with him. He was left to witness a dork on stilts fuss and fight about a simple _jacket to wear_.

He felt his thoughts focus on the goal, all the while internalizing, very slowly, how a sea of mall goers tripled the last time he came here roughly a weekend ago. The sound of their combined conversations leaked through his ears and out. Of _course_ it was a busy Valentine’s weekend. He wanted to hurl.

Hawk thought of ringing Miguel up after a string of unanswered text messages he’d sent an hour prior, to no avail. There was no _real_ commitment to a time, but if he didn't show up, let's just say Hawk will be showing _lesser_ than no mercy the next time they go against each other on the balance ring.

Yeah, Miguel should have been here by now, and he couldn't help but be disappointed. So while he waited and leaned in between the cranny of two stores, he dialed. _Ring… ring… ring…_ _why wasn’t this boy picking up…_

No answer. So Hawk gave up trying.

A few minutes later, he received a text message— _finally_ — from Miguel. It read: 

_Sorry man, can’t today. There was a rat infestation at the dojo. I have Sam, Mitch, and Chris to help me with it._

Hawk rolled his eyes. His phone vibrated with a follow up text message. 

_Oh, and you two love birds have fun~_ then a kissing emoji. 

Hawk twitched and put his phone inside his right pants pocket. Okay, so he’ll do it alone. Nothing really out of the ordinary today… except, for some odd reason, Hawk felt his heart sink ever so slightly. It was weird. Was he dying? Was he _actually about to die_ knowing the last message he’d received was “Oh, and you two love birds have fun~” knowing full well that he was going to be dead, in the mall, _alone,_ or even in the mall _with his best friend who had no idea he wrote all those notes about his true feelings_ —

Erase that thought. Erase it whole. Throw the entire brain away. _Not today._

Hawk started to pace, brushing a few fingers across his hairspray-free hair—he had to admit letting it down today was a breather—and looked for the next store he could fixate on at the moment. Just by a few feet away, he saw a small stall selling hear-shaped balloons. Two grown men (one had a figure just like Demetri’s, jet black hair and everything, but a little more olive-skinned) approached and rung up the sales clerk, pointed to a foiled balloon, and paid for it. Hawk set his initial assumptions: one of them was going to give it to a girl, and the blond guy practically wore a sign around his neck that said “third wheel”.

His first impressions were immediately shattered when, just as they walk past the counter, he saw them holding hands entwined together. 

_Christ,_ Hawk cursed to himself, running a palm over his face. If he was left to his intrusive thoughts one more time, he’ll—

“H-Hey,” The lankier boy greeted, slowly approaching him. “Where’s Miguel?”

A few blinks, and Hawk came to. “There was a situation at the dojo.”

Demetri raised his eyebrows. A _situation_ , he said. “Another trashing, perhaps?”

“Not by me, _asshole_. It was a rat infestation. Anyway,” He looked at the wrist of his bare skin, feigning a look at his invisible watch. “Look, we need to get going if you want more choices. Where do you want to start?” 

“I… actually don’t know. I was thinking you and Miguel would know more about _suave_ styles.” He dragged a point of his shirt outward. He wore a design that had a fork, an inanimate object, say _Go Fork Yourself._ “These shirts are apparently _babe repellant_.” 

With one final roll of the eyes, Hawk beckoned him to a place. A sweep of the hand was all it took for him to make the lanky boy follow suit.

* * *

Eli was patient, and he was good at it. Hawk, however, was something far, _far_ more dangerous when it came to managing his _swelling_ patience—or irritation, it was hard to tell.

And yet, he felt like he deserved a goddamn trophy for keeping up with Demetri’s string of questions _he genuinely had no answers to_. 

For the first few, maybe two stores, it involved a lot of side remarks; the highlight was: “Do you think this is worth throwing across the room once we have sex for thirty minutes?” By the third to fifth store, he became antsy: “This price is TOO high for my budget. Are clothes _always_ this expensive?” Glares and dismissive hands from Hawk usually did them, but Demetri was agile; when he didn’t find anything passable to wear, he’d leave the store before Hawk knew he was bolting outside. 

Still, Hawk tried everything in his might to give a shit regarding the case in hand, and willingly opened himself to these woes. It’s also because he uncomfortably found Miguel’s words haunting him like ghost moans, echoing and badgering him until his patience was replenished. Stick to the plan and be genuine.

It was the sixth clothing store this afternoon (about a quarter to five, to be exact), and Hawk was running out of ways to rationalize his irritation. Demetri was fucking indecisive. _All_ this to impress a girl? What was wrong with the way he looked? Didn’t he do the least amount of change in the first place? He so badly wanted to burst that bubble. 

They had entered _Khalil’s_ , which was a store that sold export overruns for a fairly affordable price. If this was the place Demetri would _finally_ find his jacket, he’d… well, it’d be a minor celebration, he guessed. He wouldn’t bare pushing past this sixth any longer. And Demetri was already circling around the rotating racks the moment they got there, lazily browsing through and barely making contact with some that could’ve worked. He was moving too fast. 

“This is ridiculous,” Hawk uttered as he walked directly behind the scrawny nerd, touching some price tags of the nearest article of clothing on the racks. “Why can’t you just pull out that brown coat you wore to that one English presentation?”

“That suede mess? No. It’s uncool.”

“As if you knew _cool._ ”

“I don’t—that’s why I asked you, right.”

“Okay, whatever. What kind of clothes are you thinking of wearing?”

He saw the boy pause for a moment, distracted by one of the sweater’s price tags. He must have been overwhelmed by it, still. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know how much this boy’s budget was, and if he was biting into an idiotic decision of splurging just to prove it to some girl. Demetri froze on the spot, brushing his fingers on the rotating rack. Hawk lightly slapped his arm that sent him to reality. “Earth to Meathead!”

“W-What?”

“I said what kind of clothes are you thinking of wearing?”

The pale boy thought twice before shrugging as a final answer, and that did no contribution for Hawk, which got him thinking: for the first time in years, he forgot to do his research, maybe because it involved something bigger than his particular vices. Some questions rose in his place, such as: how do other boys with more money have the liberty to buy trendy clothes at this rate? That was how he probably thought right now. More importantly: how effective did he think he was going to look like next to Yasmine—on Valentine’s Day, out of all holidays?

Demetri finally shot Hawk a blank stare and started to circle around the rack again, sifting through the clothes. _And there went the last straw._

A few steps in, and Hawk shoved Demetri to the side—lightly— just as he did the rest of the (passive aggressive) scanning. He surveyed his best friend even further, tone lower and more stern. “Ninth Doctor or Twelfth?”

“What?”

“You’re starting to piss me off.”

“... Ninth, I guess.”

Scanning a few feet to the left, then right, Hawk walked past him and into a rack of jackets. They were all part of the black selection, and after leafing through some hangers, he stopped just at the black bomber jacket. He shoved it against Demetri’s arms. “How much?”

“It’s...” He checked the price tag. “...nineteen dollars.”

He twitched slightly, but he continued. “Do you still have the red plaid shirt you wore in eighth grade?”

“The oversized one? Y-Yeah, it fits no—”

“Wear that. Now go pay for it and fix your face so we can eat and go home already.”

“Geez, all right.” Demetri started to slowly walk away… but stopped, only to turned around to Hawk again, who had his hands inside his pockets. “T-Thank you for… helping me out with this. I’m not good with ugly duckling transformations. Who knows how much XP points this jacket’ll give me.” One last grin, and then he brisk-walked to the nearest cashier.

And once again, all he could do was be at peace with his thoughts. So a _little_ assertiveness did it. He figured he was developing some sort of control to this kind of feeling, and it was good. This was a good start. Now all he needed to worry about next was how he was going to set his last plan up.

* * *

The waiting lines on every food outlet were decent. One would think that because 5:30PM was closer to dinner, somehow it’d be packed. But the food court was decent… yet the same time, uncharacteristically vacant. Hawk remembered actively avoiding this section of the mall, not just for the humiliation, but because he wasn’t sure if the guards that kicked them out would notice him. That was why he never wore his mohawk out in the open, and today he looked… pretty normal himself.

Hawk softened his features at the thought. It wasn’t so bad hanging out with Demetri like this again, to be honest. Things have changed, but not so much that he couldn’t stand it— he expected _way_ worse, but it wasn’t long before he concluded that the only possible way to make this quasi-date between two friends sour was letting anxiety take its control. Glad that he didn’t. Miguel’s constant prodding worked. 

But back to the food court situation, it felt _really wrong_ to eat here, considering the memory of the beatdowns in the past seemed fresh. Demetri must think of the same.

They’d been sitting across each other for around two minutes, and Hawk was shaking his right leg. Under the table, his thumbs were sweeping against each other, fingers locked, and he’d rather not make eye contact with the other boy. 

“...does it feel weird being in the same place you got your ass kicked?” teased Demetri, slightly leaning forward with a goofy smile on his face. 

Hawk couldn’t do much but softly scoff, his thumbs still wrestling with each other. “As if you put up a fight. The guards came long before I could kick yours.”

Demetri stared intensely at him, but shortly combined it with a mocking smile. Hawk returned the same devious smirk. For a moment, there was a connection that only they had bonded over. _Then Demetri’s stomach groaned._

Hawk chuckled, and Demetri pursed his lips. “Hey, uh, can you look after my stuff? I’m just gonna go order some chicken.” He pushed his chair back, fishing out the wallet from his pocket. “What do you want?”

“I’m fine. Go ahead.”

“You sure?”

A curt nod.

Demetri waited for half a second before treading away to American Deli. While the boy’s back was turned, he silently debated whether or not he was about to push through with it or not, all while pulling a rectangular object from his pocket. _Put the thing in_ , he encouraged himself _._ He had been clinging on to the last note, hopefully to get things over with. There was an elaborate setup he was going to have to fix when he got home, but the first mission to the whole operation had to start here (and honestly, he almost forgot about it if it hadn't been for that small Miguel voice). This date Demetri had with Yasmine would buy him more time to prepare for something really personal, something he never dared to do in yea—

He sensed someone from his peripheral vision; Demetri was approaching him. Pulled his hand back. “Hey, do you have an extra dollar?” He was a little fidgety, just a little, while looking over his shoulder to the line he’d left. “I kind of… blew most of it on the jacket.”

Hawk looked up, shook his head shortly, and pulled out his wallet which he plucked a bill out from. After handing it to him, he kept his mouth shut. Demetri uttered a soft thanks as he ran back. And _again_ , he was left to his thoughts. As he groped the pocket that held his wallet for the object, he realized it wasn’t there. He checked his other pocket, _nothing_. 

_Nothing_ can’t be a good sign when you were looking for _something_. 

Hawk arched forward, where was it? His heart was racing. _He can’t lose that thing._ So he went under the table and… “Gotcha,” he said, reaching below, not paying any mind to the possibility of god-knows-how-old gum clumps that were stuck underneath. Grabbing it, he realized Demetri’s seated legs were within his line of vision… squared to his crotch.

It was a dumb decision to try and stand this way because, by the time Hawk had realized, he had already hit the table with a very loud **_THUD_**. Hawk scrambled back and rose to see a shaken Demetri, hands gripped on soda cups from either side of his tray. 

“Wha… what were you doing?”

  
“Mind your business!” Hawk snapped, realizing it was unnecessary. _Shit, try again_. “S-Sorry, I just… I dropped something.” 

“... Okay.”

Hawk noticed his friend came back with a full tray: chicken, a small platter of cheesy nachos, two tall sodas, and large fries. He sneered at Demetri. “What are you, stocking for winter?”

“Huh? No, some of these are for you. I got your favorite soda. And these… are your fries. You can eat most of the nachos.” He was laying out the food one by one, and Hawk couldn’t believe it. He bought him snacks, even when he clearly said he didn’t want to, and this was… confusing. The boy continued to stare at Demetri, as if he wore his face in a wrong format.

“So that’s what you needed the dollar for.” By this time, he’d crossed his arms over his chest, displeased.

“Ah, see, the remaining twenty-five cents were still on me. These—” He hovered both palms out to the food. “—can you get these with twenty-five cents? You get more than you’ve bargained for.”

Hawk kept the arms tightly, sporting a more stern look plated across his eyes. “Stupid, I can get food for myself. And I said I didn’t want any.”

“Just eat _some_ of it, all right. Think of it as a token of my appreciation for helping me out today.”

It was futile to argue with someone so insistent as Demetri, and Hawk could only close his eyes. Funny, it almost felt like Sensei LaRusso’s teachings were getting into his system faster than he’d thought. Then a distant memory made a pit stop: Demetri often did these small tokens back in the day. Whenever Eli thought of ordering a newer issue of Dungeon Lord for him, he’d be rewarded with either some rare card from his personal deck, or a miniature he was willing to let go of. And even though Eli would rather he _didn’t_ , well… there was stubbornness to him that he couldn’t argue with.

On the side, it did make Hawk ponder over just how much he’d missed out on after he turned his own tables. Even if it was a year in the works, some of the minute details he saw in their friendship couldn’t have been clearer. However Hawk tried to frame it—angrily or dejectedly—Demetri had cared enough for him even when he wasn’t in the capacity to give back the same amount. He _knew_ this. Eli just wasn’t as loud with it.

Coming to, Hawk responded back after a few minutes. “You… should’ve saved the dollar and bought condoms instead. You’ll never know when you need it.” Fiddling fingers. He was digging under the nails of his right hand. This was a very discomforting feeling. Shouldn’t he be happy he was helping him out?

There was some brief hesitation on Demetri’s part, all while he picked apart his meal. He asked lowly. “What if I’m not good enough?” He uttered, piercing his chicken fillet with a plastic fork. Hawk could only poise and lean in as his features softened, listened. “What if she gets tired of me eventually?”

Hawk knew that feeling. It hurt, but if one thing needed to be said, it was the words: “Then move on.”

Demetri eventually cut his chicken and stayed silent for a few more minutes. The other, he wasn’t having it.

Hawk’s hand gripped the wrist, with sudden reflex that made Demetri jolt in surprise, making him drop his fork. “You know what she doesn’t know that I know? This—” He shook the hand like a rattle, mindful not to grip too hard. “This was the same hand that decoded strings of binaries at Computer Camp in under twelve minutes. _Twelve._ Those were about twenty strings, and you made an older kid cry.” He pointed to Demetri’s other free hand. “This other hand,” He gripped his left. “This _blocked_ my kicks in school. Demetri. She _will_ miss out.”

Demetri stayed quiet, throwing a soft gaze at Hawk.

“And you know what else you can do with _both these hands_?”

“... Jerk off and click?”

Hawk prematurely let them go as he continued his point. “Make someone feel loved. And _protected_.” He knows it wasn’t _him_ speaking, and he couldn’t care less. The point had to be made. “If you don’t feel that way, you can leave. Don’t wait for her to treat you like dog shit.”

The pale boy nodded, slowly, cutting through his fillet. When he took a bite, he returned his gaze to Hawk. “If I had the luxury to. Barely figured out who keeps writing me those notes. If I knew who that was, I’d get to know her in a heartbeat.”

Hawk kept silent, let him go on, and drank his pop. His eye contact, though, that was shatterproof.

Demetri chuckled. “Maybe I’m just left to keep it until that someone comes forward, huh? Even after Valentine’s?”

He’d had enough. This conversation needed to end. “Shut up and eat, Demetri. At this rate they’ll graduate college before you’re done with your food.”

Demetri was stunned, unarguable. But he did as he was told, and with a shrug he proceeded to eat the rest of his meal. Hawk went back to sit comfortably and grabbed three fingers worth of fries, shoved them inside his mouth while his gaze averted towards a random duo of boys: one with glasses, the other one with a slightly deformed ear. They were joshing by the railings and laughing. 

“Hey, Eli. I needed that.”

“Don’t mention it.” He said, not taking his eyes off of the boys. Slightly, he jutted his jaw out, clenching it right after. With both his forearms leaning onto the edge of the table, his head hung low, and more than Demetri realizing things—he somehow did, too.

* * *

The sun was close to setting, and while it hadn’t completely went down yet, the remainder of the afternoon’s orange hue bled with the purple of the incoming night. Some birds were swiftly gliding in the sky, and for a moment, Hawk felt like he was the calmest version of himself in years. Worries have been nullified. Comfort was found within himself. 

He was still emotionally fatigued. 

Both of them walked in silence, towards the open parking lot where light was barely meeting the horizon line. While Demetri went ahead by a feet or two, Hawk stopped midway by the curb. His unsure hand fiddled with the item in his pocket.

_Now or never, man._

As he noticed no one tailing behind, Demetri spun his heels and faced Hawk, acting confused. “Why’d you stop? Did you lose your bike?”

Hawk bit the skin of his lower lip. “Here,” He reached out a hand, showing a flash drive with (a now dirtied) yellow pad paper wrapped around it and taped. It was pinched in between his fingers. “I forgot to give this back.”

It was odd that they were doing this in the middle of the open parking lot, but Demetri slowly yet willingly pried the flash drive from his fingers. “O...kay. But why is it wrapped in ruled paper?”

“It’s a list of all the mods. It was a long time ago.”

The scrawny boy’s eyebrows bunched together, thinking intently, but didn’t understand. “Cool.” He slowly backed and turned around again, searching left and right for his friend's motorcycle. Hawk made a diagonal beeline to the left, and pretty soon Demetri caught to where it finally was.

As Hawk continued to walk past him and towards his motorcycle, he unclipped his motorcycle keys from the hoop of his pants and used it to warm up the baby. While he put on his bike gloves, he offered: “I can drop you off.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He spoke a little louder over the sound of the engine. “I think I’ll take the long route to clear my head.”

“What do you need to clear your head for? Just go to that date tomorrow.”

Demetri shrugged. Well, he really did need to clear his thoughts, except all he could utter out was an: “I don’t know.”

It took a moment’s notice for Hawk to catch on the fact that Demetri, who most likely felt lighter earlier, was now rid of any color on his face... and it bothered Hawk. Again, there was _no way_ he’d admit to it, but seeing the boy sport a long face (longer than it already was) not only made him want to validate his worries; he wanted to strip them away for good. Demetri deserved more than that, those were the words that ran over him and practically anyone else time and time again, but he wasn’t the right person to convince him. At least, not anymore.

Hawk noticed he was being stared at, and so he mirrored it while pressing back his hair. “Whatever you say.” The roar of the motorcycle was enough to break the silence and fill it up. There was nothing left to say, anyway. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Where will you be?”

“At the dojo. Spar with Bert, maybe.” He shrugged yet again, pressing the helmet over his head.

“All right.” With one last, roaring rev of the engine, he sped off. 

And while Hawk left, Demetri watched his shrinking figure zoom away into the distance—fast like lightning. He looked down to his palm and hadn’t realized he clenched the flash drive in his hand too hard, leaving a few creases in the paper that wrapped around it. In an attempt to divert his thoughts of how odd this was, he dropped the USB inside his paper bag and walked away. 


	5. Linger

On a normal day, Demetri relied on to-do lists. Many a system in getting things done, they were almost fool-proof to an extent. By the time he entered high school, he followed this process of blocking out his days to a tee, but that’s not to say he didn’t leave room for flexibility. When it came to his play dates with Eli, they were neither scheduled, outlined, nor constrained. Somehow, they just found some awfully good and ideal middle ground… also because they were kids, and kids with a heavy amount of time on their hands almost never know what _not_ to do to fill it up, with crazy shit behind every door.

He knew better than to underestimate the power of a teenage boy, like himself, on Valentine’s Day. And yet, this was one of the very rare instances where he _didn’t_ have a plan to navigate the date—at least, if we’re talking about his detailed lists. Mental notes upon notes were stacking on his head, and his motivation has since then waned. 

Demetri was laying flat on his bed, fingers laced and laid atop his solar plexus. It was 2PM, and he still had time. And this was how he was spending the remaining hours before they met: obsessing over which hand he should offer her when they walk out in public, which trivia about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was worth keeping her awed, and how they could possibly get _risqué_ at the cinema if there was still time. He technically only had about two hours to his disposal, which was more than enough. 

Earlier today, he practiced a few moves to show off to Yasmine in case she asked (there was: the infamous smolder, the “finger tricks”, and very flowery yet nerdy pick-up lines). But now, as he laid on the bed, hair still oily and unwashed, he sunk into his subconscious. The room was a little dark from the closed curtains; figured he didn’t need another reminder that the sun would set as fast.

He couldn’t help but feel like something was amiss in the pre-planning he’d been obsessed over for literal _days_ . Was it deodorant? He’ll smell decent enough— yesterday, he still managed to rely on very little mist that came out, and hopefully for today, what was left of it. Oh yeah, he was about to bank on Old Spice and pheromones. And by his initial calculations (and the margin of errors that came with the moment’s mental prep), they _should_ get to third base before 8PM, so he can settle with no condoms for another three to four weeks, give or take. That’s a few dollars saved.

There was very short-lived excitement to the thought—oh _baby_. But alas, he needed to get up and get dressed. Complacency was the enemy of progress.

* * *

At this point, he was willing to brave for whatever was thrown at him as he stared at his face on the mirror. After spending the last forty-five minutes in the bathroom, he _almost shaved everything_ that needed to be from top to bottom, except for the legs. And with that, he was kind of satisfied. From the reflection in the mirror, he saw the black bomber jacket hanging by the closet. It looked… good, actually, so kudos to Hawk for picking out a jacket that cost less. Things were in line so far, at least until— fuck, _he forgot chocolates._ He _forgot_ those were a thing. _Make a mental note,_ Demetri told himself. And then he clutched the sides of his head.

“Damn it!” He curled into himself, his dog-print boxers coming into view, along with his inner shirt, and his best pizza socks. He still had a long way to go,and in terms of his undies, well… let’s say it completed his branding that was up to par with Demetri’s standards. Hey, least it served him. 

He looked at his clock, it read half past three. He still had time, he thought. He stood up and studied his physique in the mirror, then his arms that were disproportionate as usual. Some meat was built into it since Miyagi-Do, and with the new dojo, he had the buffer to make guns out of metal rods. 

His eyes pinned to his facial structure longer than usual. All that needed to come out was mental motivation. He’d been waiting for it, and it should come to… anytime now.

… why wasn’t he happy? Better yet, why did something good feel very, very off?

With soft eyes, he slumped his shoulders. He attempted to dress himself up the rest of the way, a left leg in to one and a right, and as he glanced at his neat desk, his eye caught the flash drive Hawk handed to him. It was still wrapped in yellow pad paper, which was odd because— he’d honestly forgotten it existed. Was it from camp?

A few smoothened creases to the jacket, he removed the tape and carefully unwrapped it out of curiosity. From the flap, he saw the only coherent words “ _screw this”_ , which was the indicator for him to stop. If this was some sick game, Demetri thought, then he’ll have to give Hawk a piece of his frazzled mind. It could have been something to throw him off, right? The lanky boy knew better than to give himself _another_ headache while he was off on the date. 

So he threw the flash drive on his desk and proceeded to prepare everything for the perfect date.

* * *

_Meet at six_.

Six… _before_ six? Quarter to six? Ten _minutes_ till six?

Demetri sighed as he messed with his bomber jacket’s garter cuffs. It was a little tight, probably because of the red plaid sleeves. It wasn’t even cold inside the mall. He wasn’t necessarily feeling hot, either.

Close. He felt really nervous. Kept thinking if he was on time or too early, or possibly _too late_. 

_Meet at six._ These words rang continuously while he waited idly by Bath & Body Works, one hand rustling inside his jeans pockets, the other holding a small box of chocolates wrapped inside the brown paper bag. Time check: it was around five o’clock. Demetri was lucky enough to drop by the entrance that sold an array of Valentine’s Day items: roses, chocolates, heart-shaped balloons, you name it. 

Now all that’s left is to wait for Yasmine. 

He was scanning around the sea of couples, some with families, and it soured Demetri’s expression for a while. Before this, Valentine’s Day was just a tradition for people who had someone to love. But to him, even though he wasn’t built to condemn people who _were_ in love, it still tasted bitter. All he had by his side was Eli, and if that didn’t say much about his crippling shame about being a nerd, he didn’t know what. 

While waiting, his thoughts lingered on Eli. It was finally Valentine’s Day, man, why wasn’t he making efforts to go after Moon, out of all occasions? He supposed it was still possible, right? He had changed… sort of. Still a hardass, sure, but he wasn’t a big bully anymore. But then again, Moon was into totally different things now: last he’d heard, she was having a ball with tarot readings. Mystics he could get into, seemed like a lot of fun. Maybe not for Hawk.

That was… that was his problem. He let himself slip. Those were the consequences.

Well, whatever—he deserved to be where he eventually _will_ be today, except that he felt completely off about the whole thing. This _date_ was one of the few things he wasn’t sure of in his whole seventeen years of existence, and Demetri _hated_ that.

So maybe Yasmine was even _less_ sure than he was. And it made him even sadder on Valentine’s Day. Even the box of chocolates said so considering they were up to Demetri’s mid-rib. Now they’re just sadly hanging by his side.

People were coming and going as per usual. He had become so lost in his thoughts that when he lazily turned his head to the Bath & Body Works entrance, he spotted golden locks bounce in the air. She seemed to hastily walked inside, too. He’d recognized that top belonged to none other than Yasmine.

So he followed her, looking around as if he wanted to avoid being tracked. 

  
  


Demetri stopped short on his tracks when he momentarily lost Yasmine—and this was difficult, because some standees and signage were _ridiculously_ leveled high. He was still careful, though; part of his strategy was to place himself by the edges of the store, most shoppers don’t even _begin_ from the sides. As he was strafing from the side, conveniently behind some shelves, he spotted the top of her head. _Man,_ Demetri looked silly. But it could very well be part of his tactic today, the element of _surprise._

Peering through the side, he observed Yasmine as she browsed through the displays. Her fingers were unsure for some reason, but she kept looking—what did she say she needed again? Oh! Body cream. Demetri guessed that was what he’d heard.

Eventually, he noticed a girl with auburn hair and petite figure approach her, and did three taps to the shoulder to catch her attention. Didn’t look like a clerk, she wasn’t wearing any tags or IDs... So what was happening here?

When Demetri caught them embracing, his heart skipped, or possibly drop, he couldn’t tell. He kept watching them as they locked in an embrace… 

And then they kissed each other. On the lips. 

He regretted ever coming early, but… he couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

She turned her head a tad, which gave him a view of her genuine smile—something she had given him once before in the school corridors. Her features glowed, her upturned nose crinkled in response to something the petite girl must have cracked. Yasmine looked _genuinely happy_ with her company, and Demetri didn’t understand how he felt. Did he feel cheated? He couldn’t be, considering that they weren’t anything. _They weren’t anything._

It slowly made sense. Was this why she told him to come on this time window? 

Demetri’s shoulders could only sink deeper as he hid behind one of the shelves. From how their conversation is going, Yasmine appeared to be describing _him_. She started to hover her hand up above her—addressing his height—and when she drew an arc over her forehead with her hand, that seemed to be his floppy hair. For someone who was gonna stand up a date, she sure made a point to be visual in describing him. At least she took notice of his sideburns; it would be the last she’d made before the other girl responded. 

They checked their phones and thought some before they agreed and parted ways, grinning, and with one final kiss, the auburn-haired girl left. Demetri checked his watch: it was 20 minutes past five o’clock.

So did he have the heart to approach her after what he saw? He should. And he’ll figure something out with his sharp mind. As he slowly emerged from behind the shelf, he carefully trod and stood behind Yasmine, who was now looking at a row of body butters. He tapped a finger on her shoulder the way the other girl did. She jolted as she turned around. “W-What are you doing here?”

“You said I meet you at six, but I didn’t want to, uh… keep you waiting. So I dressed a bit earlier.” 

“Oh. Okay, well… did you get me anything?” She said, looking down on the folded paper bag he held by his side.

“Oh, n-no. This was just, um,” He fumbled. “I just bought something from the miniature store. Small toolbox. B-But I, uh, I wanted to ask you something.” 

Yasmine turned around and continued scanning, picking up a tub and putting it to eye level. “What is it.” 

“Is there any chance you’ve been writing and sneaking me notes?”

Yasmine stopped scrutinizing the label and turned to him. “And why would I?”

Demetri licked his bottom lip, controlling the urge not to stammer his response. “B-Because… you know what, f-forget it.” He started to turn away and walked a few steps.

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?” Yasmine called out softly, placing the tub back. She looked remorseful at the slightest. “I thought you were gonna help me?”

Demetri turned back and clenched on the brown paper bag tighter. “Right. Maybe try, um...” He pretended to have the slightest interest in the items as he walked a bit further than her, and as he grabbed the next item of god-knows-what, he hovered it in front of his face before putting it down to its place. “This one.” A pained smile, and one final message before he left: “Have fun later. Happy Valentine’s Day, Yaz.” 

* * *

The first thing he did when he entered his bedroom was throw the box of chocolates against the desk table, not caring if the chocolate balls inside suffered an earthquake. To him, this holiday will be nothing more than a silly consumerist attempt to make other people feel obligated to show their love. He was so naive, and should have known better. Who was he to think that he’d find love in a very calculated event? Not even his favorite campaigns could prepare him for the heartache that came out of what he saw. But a sliver of him definitely felt like a big bone was picked before it caused any greater problems. 

It was dark inside, and he’d rather keep it that way—his headspace had been blanked out the moment he left the mall. As he turned on his desktop, he flung his shoes off, and shoved his pants to his ankles. If he didn’t get the outcome he wanted, might as well just turn it into a night of making himself feel good. At least he wouldn’t let _himself_ down. The price was too low to make this kind of humiliating mistake.

While his computer booted, leg rocking, his eyes turned to the piece of paper that was half unfurled, along with the thumb drive. He figured it would be the opportune time to check with was still inside; whatever it was that Hawk added, he couldn’t care less. It’s always a turn for the worst from hereon out. 

He picked apart the rest of the paper and plugged in the flash drive. Half-distracted, he stared the faint light from what his wallpaper could provide (it was concept art from one of the games he played). Because he wasn’t mindful, he almost crumpled the paper. Fingers unfurled it again, and inside he found about four or five lines of poetry that seemed... oddly familiar.

Wait, rewind. This was _Hawk._ And _no way_ was this meant to connect. So he read the rest from the crumpled note:

_It’s getting harder to write poems, screw this night,  
_ _I’m never good with words.  
_ _But when I’m with you, I just feel right...  
_ _Hope you never get bored.  
  
_

_Happy Valentine’s. I left you a link in the flash drive._

  
  


Something washed over Demetri, and he wasn’t sure just how much of it rid his heartache, but as he put two (or three, specifically) together, it felt like a Super Mario checkpoint. He stood up and went straight to his bedside drawer, fished out the two other notes and laid them on the desk, comparing them side by side.

“What the hell.” Realizing this definitely hit him like a damned bulldozer. The n’s were barely curling, the way his y’s were nuanced (and _masked_ , better yet)... The first two weren’t so much as Eli’s writing, but he knew the boy was clever enough to conjure up an elaborate scheme— and Demetri was mentally strangling himself for not seeing it way too earlier. Well, the rose-colored glasses were finally off, and he could see… well, barely see. The room was still dark.

A few clicks to Window Explorer, and things weren’t out of the ordinary. Some folders he could clearly remember contents of, and this made Demetri a little more confused. What was he supposed to ogle at, exactly? 

After a few clicks to the folders, then subfolders, he came across a directory of .ini files. _These are the editable files_ , he said mindfully, but it was until the middle part of his search that he was able to read the filename. 

_“OPEN THIS ON VALENTINE’S DAY.txt”_

Click. It was a cloud link. He copied and pasted it into a browser, and the page loaded just in time for him to slowly believe this was Hawk’s doing. He was _beyond_ skeptical by this time, but it was only just beginning.

One folder from the cloud storage and the audio file titled _Meat.mp3_. He chose to download the audio file.

This makes absolutely zero sense, Demetri complained, not seeming to connect all of it together. So Hawk wrote the notes, for what? And more than that, were these _genuine_ words? He hesitated a bit before double-clicking. After successfully downloading the clip, Hawk’s familiar voice permeated the darkness. Some rustling was heard in the background, too.

“Hey, Meat, it’s uh… it’s me. Sorry I didn’t return this flash drive sooner. I’m surprised you never looked for it, actually. It’s been lying in front of my monitor for years now, but… don’t worry. Your mods are still in here. I would never have deleted it.”

A curious cursor already clicked and scanned the rest of the folders before he’d mention it, so he can confirm. He almost forgot which games these mods were, but this wasn’t the time to linger. He clicked back to the window as Hawk continued to speak.

“Anyway, that’s not what this is about. I… wanted to tell you that I wrote all the notes. I had Miguel help me with the French one—I know he’d been dying to use it on Sam, so I thought I’d take the chance.” A long pause. Something sounded like crumpling paper at the background. Sounds of breathing can be heard. “He thought I was writing them for Moon at first, but… I know she’s happier now, and she doesn’t need me. As with the notes, I think I spent… three? Three English periods writing that shit. So, what’d you think?” A low chuckle.

Demetri fixed his posture on his chair and stared at the window where the audio was playing, softly, arms crossed over his jacketed chest.

“So, uh… I don’t know what to tell you to be honest. I wrote them because… I remembered Valentine’s Day used to mean us hanging out at the playground until curfew. Well, I didn’t have curfew because Mom knew I’d be with no one but you.” He heard some soft gulp somewhere in that sentence. "We promised that we’d stop it once we successfully dated girls. And it kind of did happen… Yeah. It’s a little pathetic, but…” There was a longer pause. Demetri wasn’t sure what happened, so he moved his mouse. The bar was still rolling.

“I always believed you’d be the first one out of both of us, anyway. Guess it wasn't too late to get your wish. And I’m happy for you. I really am.”

Demetri’s face fell. His eyes softened as the bar’s roller was coming to a close. There was enough yearning to hear more.

“Well I...” There was a momentary pause. “I guess that’s that. Miguel’s gonna be out with Sam and a few of the guys. I think you already left when they made plans, so I’ll be left alone. You all got double dates, I've got a six pack all for me. Anyway, I... wanted to tell you how I felt before you delete this clip—if you delete this clip. For whatever reason. So if you change your mind, just meet me at the old playground, same time as before. Even if you don’t want to go, I’ll still be there until ten. We can just talk.” 

Demetri looked at his clock— shit, there was _no way_ it was already past seven o’clock. He wanted to go, go _now_ , but for good measure, he looked around the rest of the folders on the cloud storage.

“Huh?” Within the folder was another folder—three, to be exact— each a string of binary letters. 

The first one: **01010110**

Second: **01000100**

Third: **01000001**

And finally, the fourth: **01011001**

He whispered: “You fucking dork.” And instantaneously, he grinned for the first time since today. In the first folder, Demetri could tell right off the bat that these were shots from 2012. This was the second Valentine’s tradition they’d had, on a sunny afternoon: Demetri kneeling on all fours imitating a gazelle, while he wore an oversized cerulean pun shirt. Next folder: Demetri was staring into the fountain, with some minor motion blur. It made for a good filter. 

The most notable one was a photo of him with a full face of marshmallows. It was the same time they dueled each other to a Chubby Bunny contest, and he chuckled at the obvious drop of saliva hanging from the edge of his mouth. He looked slightly petrified, himself.

All of these shots were practically just Demetri. The last one from the latest folder in 2016 was a selfie of both of them, just around the time Eli had grown out his hair a bit longer. Demetri remembered this memory clearly—he thought of some compliment he said before. And Eli had worn this hairdo for a while until some bullies in middle school had poked their unnecessary fun. His features fell again.

So was… Eli somehow _in love_ with him this whole time? The way he said _“how I felt”_ was very vague to him. If this was a prank, _he couldn’t have planned so grandly of it_. _Or maybe he could have, given the chance,_ he uttered internally. But there was some form of relief to capping it off this way. Plus, it was funny. He wasn’t sure if Eli liked him first, then Hawk, or vice versa, if he could ever call that correlation. It was all an emotional blur, but it gave his chest a soft nudge. He’d have to address it with some friendly confrontation, then.

He sighed and slumped over seat as he came to realize he was still in his boxers. After gathering a clearer sense of his priorities, he stood back up and pulled up his pants, slipped into his shoes, grabbed the box of chocolates, the notes, and headed straight to where Hawk might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to deny that my writing has been a little sloppy for this one, but I'm getting ready for the last chapter. Obviously, Demetri had been distracted by the bulk of his emotions, but thanks to Hawk, he was able to leave earlier. Give a star for this boy ~~so he can run into Hawk's arms.~~
> 
> Also, can I get some love for bisexual Yasmine? I know _I_ would love to see it.


	6. You Can, Indeed, Handle Somebody Loving You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the fated end, oh nOoOOoO. But in all seriousness, here lies all the juicy things I've left out for HawkMeat in the previous chapters. It's the longest, so I hope you savor each of it! Fic notes are at the end. Happy Valentine's Day, dorks! ♥

Cold ones were always better than warm ones, but since it was a generous 38 °F in the neighborhood park, the lukewarm pack of beer he brought was given the all-access pass. The cold had been very decent this Sunday, so Hawk didn’t really mind. On some occasions, he’d come here to think, most especially when he felt too overwhelmed by his day-to-day reality. No one chastised him here. Not a single soul made fun of his scar. It was just Eli perched on the edge of a roaring fountain, staring into the spouts where water rushed and fell with small splashes. And being alone this way kept his mental health stable, to say the least. Whether it was day or night, this was the next refuge he’d seek solace in besides his bedroom, or Demetri’s bedroom. 

Scratch out that last part: Demetri’s bedroom _used to be_ that one place. Now it’s part of the things he actively avoided thinking about, too. At least now, he’d be enjoying a six-pack all to himself, regardless if they were room temperature or not. He’d be in the park until the time was up.

He was rotating his phone in between the fingers of his right hand, while the other held the half-drunk beer bottle of Coors. He’d been on his phone for the first thirty minutes since he’d been there, scrolling through the stories of his friends, and naturally he felt left out; this was the second, maybe third instance he felt alienated from everyone else, and today was for a very specific reason. The rest of the guys wanted him to hop along, but Hawk couldn’t find it in himself to the fake happiness he had to show by being the only one without a date. _No thanks_ , _I’d rather stay and make out with a beer bottle_ , Hawk remember biting back to Mitch once. Boy took it like a champ, either way.

The night was filled with ambient sounds of the water, the howl of the air, and some crickets—that is, until the ringtone he set for Miguel rang split. It was the sickest into to Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song (a recommendation from none other than the brown boy himself). He let it ring for a while before answering his video call. 

“I don’t know why you’re calling me when you should be on a date.”

“Can’t I check up on my best friend?” Miguel reasoned back, grinning like stupid. His face was barely lit, except for the flickering light which he assumed came from the TV. He guessed Miguel and Sam were already having their impromptu movie date at the LaRusso’s. 

Hawk fixed his sitting position by the edge of the fountain, folding the outer leg while the other crossed flatly. Then he shrugged. “Look, I can take care of myself.” He pulled the beer bottle next to his face. “I’m tonguing this curvy cutie right now until you interrupted.” A chuckle sounded off from the other end.

Miguel grinned and showed himself walking towards the kitchen area. “Hey man, I’m just saying you need to find a better kissing partner who wasn’t a Coors Light.” 

They both chuckled as the brown boy continued again, a little softer this time. “Listen, you did the right thing for Demetri. I would have been disappointed in you if you didn’t go through with it.”

“Yeah, well. Hip hip hooray.” He took a swig. The beer was getting good by the minute, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel too overjoyed about it. He rested the hand that held the phone on his knee. “Shouldn’t you be over there watching with Sam?” 

“I told her they can watch some of it without me. Don’t tell her, but I, uh—” Miguel took to whisper the next reply. “I watched this movie with my Mom like, a few times already.”

“What’s the movie?”

“She’s The Man.” 

Hawk chuckled. He hadn’t heard of that movie, probably because it came out when he was like, what… four? He vaguely knew the plot, too. A part of him was glad he wasn’t around, or else he’d have to be obligated to watch a movie he wasn’t as interested in. Chick flicks were wack. 

“Anyway,” The Ecuadorian boy started again, clearing his throat. “How long are you gonna wait for him?”

“‘Til ten.” Another swig. “That’s if the pea brain actually checked the folders. I’m not expecting much right now but to get drunk.” 

Miguel kept quiet. He genuinely didn’t know what to say next, except for when he said: “How are you gonna treat him once the senseis get back? You think things will stay the same?” 

“I guess. We can just be comrades. Best to keep things _strictly business_ from now on.” Hawk shook his head, looking at the distant monkey bars. “I can still face that dork, no problem. I’m just….” He settled the beer bottle down and adjusted his beanie, which he felt like suffocating his face with as of this moment, but decided against it. He continued, “I just think I lost him for good. But I don’t want to care.” 

It took a while for Miguel to come up with an answer— he peered back as if he was making eye contact with someone from the corner. True enough, Sam was approaching Miguel, seeming to have overheard the conversation. Hawk was the first one to retort. “Look, he called me, princess. You can have him, I’m hanging up—”

“Stop.” 

Hawk stared blankly at the phone screen, eyes focused on Sam’s face. The lights in the LaRusso household turned on, and she was edging her face beside Miguel’s, stern.

“You get your things in gear and take him back, whatever it takes. Things _have_ to stay the same for the sake of the dojo, Hawk. And more than that—” He took the phone away from Miguel’s hands, seemingly surprised by it, but he didn’t object. Sam continued, autonomy present in her voice: “I don’t know you to be this kind of _pessimist_. There’s no doubt you two had history together and that’s a _big deal_. Like Miguel said—”

“You _told_ her???” Hawk’s heart was beating fast. There goes the alcohol-induced anxiety. But he still heard Miguel reason out, _unfortunately._

“Look man, whatever’s in the dojo stays in the dojo, but you technically told me at the soccer field—”

“You better hide tomorrow!” Hawk held out a death glare towards Miguel, who boisterously laughed right after. Sam managed to snatch Miguel’s phone back. “ _Hawk, focus._ ” 

Where did this stern voice come from? But he continued to listen. His hand snaked towards the beer bottle while he was at it. 

“You’re brothers, remember? What were you called…” _Snap, snap, snap_. 

Miguel interjected. “B-Binary brothers.”

“Right, yeah.” Sam smiled some, lightening the mood. “Whatever happens tonight, if he does or _doesn’t_ come… you two are still joined to the hip. And we know Demetri; he isn’t going to let you go. He likes coming back.”

“I know that. Just not for the same reasons.”

“But you can’t keep running away from your feelings, Hawk. Embrace that fear and overcome it. We both believe in you. And these guys, too—see?” She then proceeded to show Mitch and Chris’ faces, a string of oohs and kissing noises. Least he was sure he wanted to do two things after tonight: beat Miguel next training day, including both the big guys. They better get ready.

Sam’s sage-like words no doubt caught him off guard, and he was sure this was some well-thought wisdom from the senseis that trickled down to both her and Miguel. Those two had a way with keeping the flow going, in and out of the dojo, so abundantly that even with the adults gone, they managed to keep the peace (well, somehow). It kept Hawk’s ferociously-beating heart at bay for a while; he had that to thank them for. He was proud of how far they’d all come, despite not forgetting shitstorm he had caused. 

Hawk took another swig of the bottle, which was halfway done, then placed both feet on the ground. His hand was still holding onto the phone to his face, and while he looked at both of them, he tried to paint a face of sincerity. “Go back to your date, you two.” A soft smirk, then he taunted Miguel. “And _you_. I’ll deal with your ass tomorrow.”

Sam was smiling, too, while the Ecuadorian nodded. “I’ll make a mental note and serve you ice cream while I’m at it, darling.”

“Thanks.” With one last wave, he hung up.

From that momentary silence, his brain had prompted to think about the relationships, and the constant effort to try to repair them, _especially_ to the ones who didn’t deserve his mania. If only the heavens gave him some form of guidance to dealing with this confusion in him, he could use it pronto. As he tipped his head back to chug a big one out of the beer bottle, the moon had come into view. 

He thought about Moon, and he felt nothing but bitter remorse. But somewhere deep in the cavities of his heart, he knew she was at peace, and he understood. The time for them to reunite might not come soon or _at all_ , but with the best things coming for her, who was he to take it away? 

The second gulp he did, he remembered how he couldn’t even look both Sensei Lawrence and Sensei LaRusso in their eyes (doing this before getting into stance made him feel very, very small, still, as if he had to relearn things all over again). There was acceptance to gradually letting the repercussions of his nasty acts do him some time. And _he was told to pay for it_ ; there’d been loads of dojo chores and setups he couldn’t begin to name, some he needed to still do while the senseis were away. But those were the lessons Sensei Kreese _wouldn't_ have taught, not even in a million years, and Hawk was grateful he came to. It just sucked to be tired from cleaning _on top of_ practice.

By the third and final gulp, he ultimately landed his thoughts on Demetri. And he got angry. He got _so_ angry, he prematurely threw the bottle away and sent it flying towards the distant bed of grass, just a few feet shy from the monkey bars. He loathed and denied any silver linings to the serial disasters he’d brought upon not only his best friend, _but a person he deeply cared about since Day One._ His judgement had been clouded for way too long, and he couldn’t be in more disbelief than tonight. How could a piece of shit like him do that to the first friend he had?

For someone who had been drinking for the past thirty minutes, he was still hyper-aware, and he felt it as he clutched his head in between his two hands, almost as if wanting his brain to stop. He could tell by the way he singled out the sound of running water and how it didn’t sound as comforting, though it did calm him down. A few lights illuminated the edges of the small playground, but other than that, the lamppost gave off faint light. It was enough to make Hawk draw at least 70% imagery of what would go down if a serial killer came out from behind and stabbed his neck. 

He chuckled at himself. Now _that_ was a funny thought that was waiting to happen. Being holed up in himself on the idea about serial killers. Hawk pulled out another beer bottle from the pack by his feet, as he continued to stare quietly at the sky, listening to the fountain’s running water. 

And his speculations about a serial killer _just might happen_ when he heard one, maybe two steps approaching him; his ears twitched. His nostrils flared, a hand gripped tightly on the bottle’s body. He waited for the “perfect moment” to face the possible assailant, and with a threatening hand, he stood—

“W-Wait, hey, it’s me!” A familiar voice shot out, and Hawk put his guard down. His free fist was still curled, and the lights that surrounded the whole park illuminated Demetri’s tall form. 

Surprised, Hawk asked: “What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a date, it’s…” He looked at his phone for the time. “It’s still 7:35. What, couldn’t take the heat?” 

Demetri leaned to the side and shrugged. “I’ll tell you if you lower that beer bottle away, Django.”

“Moron, I’m not gonna throw it at you. I was going to drink it.” 

The pale boy was about to retort, but eventually he gave up, and trod a few steps towards the edge of the fountain where Hawk sat. He laid out a free palm. “Gimme some of that, then.” 

Reluctantly, Hawk kept glancing at him as he passed a bottle to Demetri, then one to himself as he sat down and took the cap off. The other followed suit and placed his paper bag of chocolates to the side. He started to report. “... I saw Yasmine kiss another girl.” 

Hawk blinked, uttered before drinking some. “Shit.” 

“I saw it right before we were supposed to meet, and now I knew why it was six on the dot. I wasn’t even sure if I was supposed to feel hurt or… something.”

“Of course you should.”

Demetri hadn’t opened his Coors Light. Just juggled it in between his hands.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I was rushing into things too fast.”

Silence.

“And at least now I know how you feel.”

Silence again. It’s because he’d rather not talk about this with him, at least, if he was putting it in the context of Moon. He’d just rather not.

Demetri finally opened his bottle, placing the cap down. He rolled it some, just in between his palms, and when he drank a bit, he winced. Beer really wasn’t his thing, but it’ll do for tonight. He folded a leg up and faced Hawk, a few inches away. “... So why didn’t you tell me you wrote all the notes when we were at the parking lot? What if I didn’t see the flash drive?” 

Again, silence. One hand fidgeted, the other held the bottle’s spout close to his scarred lips.

“Look, if it was some sick joke, just tell me—”

“It _wasn’t_ a prank. Okay?” Hawk placed the beer to his side and stood up. “Well, _part_ of it is, but… you were getting distracted.”

Demetri’s face soured. He leaned over slightly. “F-From what? I’ve been training perfectly fine—” 

“From us.” Pause. Then Hawk spoke in a hushed tone. “I…”

“You were _scared_?”

“... Maybe.” 

“It’s a yes or no question.” 

“... Yes.”

Silence. The fountain may have been roaring a little louder this time. But Hawk gripped the bottle and toughened up in a way he knew would be the right way to go. “If I lost you, that’s on _me_. It’s always been on me.” He downed a straight one before growling and standing up. “And I’m sick of it! Nothing ever went right!”

“That’s not true, I--” 

“Are you shitting me? I broke your _fucking_ arm, Demetri!” At this point, he shed a tear or two, and he felt bare. Unlike the countless moments Eli had been vulnerable around Demetri, what he showed the scrawny boy right now was nothing like the boy he knew then. “I’m a monster. I’ve always been… God, I sound like such a _damn_ idiot! I never thought I was _worthy_ —”

“Eli.”

“—to be loved for who I was, especially _now_ , because I’m a fucking—”

“ _Eli._ ”

“ _—sorry excuse for a friend, Demetri—_ ”

Demetri slammed his bottle on the fountain seat, sat up, and grabbed Hawk by the collar of his shirt and jacket. A slight yank pulled him to eye level. “Would you SHUT UP?!”

Hawk looked at his angry face with eyes that glistened with a wet layer of tears, shaking in intensity as he looked at Demetri dead in the eyes, nose flaring as he held back the floodgates. The other boy continued to threaten him.

“Say that to my face again and I will beat you. I dare you. I don’t care if we do this all night. Just don’t tell me those things, _please_.”

Hawk was stunned silent, blinking his glossed eyes away. This was a side of Demetri he hadn’t experienced before, not even during training. He never saw him angry like this, until now. Their faces were closer as the taller boy made his point.

“I’m _back_. I’m _here_. So you’re going to have to _shut up_ and listen to what I have to say.” He shoved him away just as Hawk stepped back a few. His hands were curled into a fist out of reflex. 

Demetri ran his hand down his face before settling it by his sides. “What do you take me for? Huh? If you… if you think I was going to leave you again—why? There’s _nothing_ I’ve seen you do that made me realize that you don’t matter anymore, or that you couldn’t _change_. Even with that broken arm incident.”

He paused, then continued again, just as Hawk broke his gaze, tears falling down his eyes. He was shaking inside, and not because of the cold air. He snatched his beer bottle from the fountain surface and drank some; Demetri was still speaking. “And you mean more to me now than you’ve ever been. I defended you to Mom when I got the cast. Sam _knows this_. _And,_ I fought _beside_ you, you dunderhead! I helped defend you to Sensei Lawrence and Mr. LaRusso _more_ times than you’d ever know. And sure, you don’t need to.” He scoffed in a ridiculing manner. “ _I’m_ not even sure if those were the wisest things I’ve done. But don’t you see?” He stepped forward, poking the middle of Hawk’s chest. “There’s still something, _way_ deep down in here, that Miguel sees— that _I_ see. And it’s the one thing I haven’t let go of. You’ve proven me that at the mall yesterday. I wouldn’t be so merciful now if it weren’t for you telling _me_ I’m the shit, too.” 

Hawk smiled bitterly and spoke against the bottle spout. “Don’t get too cocky.” 

“See, now there’s that grin. I can work with that. Just,” Demetri sat down and patted the space next to him, where the beer pack wasn’t. Hawk glanced at him briefly before staring at the shape of the fountain. “Just sit here and let’s talk about it.”

So he did. But he wasn’t facing Demetri as much as the other boy had expected. Still, he continued.

“You wouldn’t have written me those notes if you didn’t believe it. I know it’s not meant to be a _‘prank’_ , but I have the _slightest hunch_ it came from _somewhere_. _So,_ I’m here to debunk _and_ analyze that.” He pulled out Note #1 from his back pockets, and from this sign alone, Hawk’s heart started galloping. “Starting with—”

Hawk slammed his beer bottle with a loud **_clink!_** and started walking away. 

“Hey, where do you think _you’re_ going?!”

The redhead pointed an accusing finger at him. “Away from you, you weirdo! Keep that shit away from me!”

“But you wrote it!” 

“To give it to _you_ , that’s the fucking point!”

“That doesn’t make any sense! Come back here!”

Demetri jogged after him, the same time Hawk sprinted and aimed to circle the tree from the edge of the park. “Stop being so _difficult!_ ” 

“Stay the fuck away from me!” 

And so they chased each other for a solid three minutes—vaulting over the slide _and_ under it, around the trees—like parkour artists, almost; it was like maneuvering around an obstacle race at this point, but Demetri didn’t budge… and to its benefit, Hawk eventually collapsed down to catch his breath by the base of the monkey bars, eventually slumping down on the soil. He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. 

Demetri stopped shortly and loomed in front of Hawk, panting, then started to read the note in a Shakespearean voice. “ _My point is probably moot_ … _And right now, I’m in a great deal of delirium—_ ”

Hawk was actively covering his ears, as if fighting it to be the last thing he’d hear in his life. _He won’t shut up, he won’t._

Demetri willingly continued. “... You think I’m _cute_ , huh?” 

“I am going to beat the _shit_ out of you—” At his crouched position, he aimed to sweep Demetri’s leg, only for the taller boy to swiftly grab and hang on to one of the monkey bars’ rods above him, lifting himself up shakily. He stepped back on the ground and backed away from the redhead. “We were partnered together in lab. You gave me your notes.” 

“And?”

“And you _cared,_ but you didn’t tell me _then._ Second note!” 

And _again_ , Hawk tried to actively pry the note away from Demetri like his life depended on it—and it _kind of_ did; were he to keep these notes, the cockier he’d grow, and that all leads back to an insufferable nerd to deal with day in and out. Through a shove and shin kicks, Demetri continued to utter jabs among jabs of words like: “There’s no point taking it away from me if you gave it to me,” and “Let out your feelings, _baby boy!_ ”, but Hawk couldn’t say this was dreadful. There was an actual fun factor to it. It added something unique to the extensive list of things they messed around with—on Valentine’s Day in particular. 

The tussle waned, and both of them grew tired as they plopped down and surrendered on the ground. For a moment under the faint lights, he saw how joyful Demetri had become; when he grinned, his gums showed. It gave Hawk that slight pinch to the heart—and he knew jack shit about dealing with it. But he saw him, and in turn, Demetri did too. 

When Hawk hovered beside him on the dark soil beneath the monkey bars, he felt cathartic to an extent. He just didn’t know what to do with the image of Hawk above him like this. Never in his whole seventeen years would he think about the way the light from the lampposts dampened his features and illuminated the fading red dye of his hair. 

Eventually, Hawk coughed and stood up, retreating back to the fountain first, slumping down and leaning back on its curved edge. He finished the remainder of his beer, while Demetri walked back and stared at Note #2.

“How do you say this in French?” He asked, eyes still glued to the line translated in French.

“Beats me. I just let Miguel translate it.”

“You know you can just Google French translations, right?”

Silence again, and Hawk silently beat himself up. _He foiled himself._ But on the other hand, Miguel (and eventually the rest of the damn dojo, apparently) pulled him back up.

“You _need_ to have him teach you, so you can say it to me very eloquently.”

“Do you get off of _humiliating_ me?” Hawk shot him a glare, sharp as a dagger. Demetri could only smirk.

“It’s all in good fun. Perk up.” Demetri reached over to somewhere at the back of his head, where the paper bag of chocolates was, and offered the box to Hawk. It was when he opened it that he realized they were a little deformed from the throw he’d done earlier tonight. Some mounds were melted around the edges, but they were still decently consumable. He passed it to the boy next to him. “Chocolates.”

This elicited a wince from the other. “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“Eat. Or feed them to me, seeing as how you’re _deeply in love with—”_ What Demetri didn’t expect was a mound of chocolate flying over and onto the bed of grass, ending just a few inches shy from the monkey bars. Hawk licked his fingers after.

“Me…” He stared down at his chocolates, a grid of the plastic tray hollow. He glared at the boy next.

“I’m not hungry.” Hawk crossed his arms in front of his chest. Legs, too. He continued to drink from the bottle, faintly hearing Demetri say to himself: “You’re lucky that was the ugly looking chocolate.”

A few minutes later, Demetri picked a piece and chewed as he spoke: “You were at the library, too. I didn’t think people hung out there in between classes.”

“You didn’t _think_ , period.”

“Well if you hadn’t kept dismissing me all the time, I would have caught it! The way you masked your handwriting was _too_ particular—”

“How are you _not_ weirded out by any of this?” Hawk questioned, looking at Demetri with concerned eyes, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Hawk basically _indirectly_ told him he had _feelings_ , along with other ludicrous reasons and turns that he thought supported that. “Your date was screwed, you bought a twenty-dollar jacket that you _didn’t use_ — 

“I’m using it now—”

“Hell, you even put cologne on for the first time in years. I don’t understand what you get out of wanting to be here with me. What is _wrong_ with you?”

It took Demetri a while to speak, trying not to get overly irritated. He put the box of chocolates in between his legs that formed a V-shape. “Even if the date did happen, I’ll always be here for you. Though I…” He brushed the back of his head, sheepishly. “I still am surprised you… like me. You promise it’s not a joke?”

Hawk puckered his lips to the spout of the beer bottle. “I promise it’s not a joke.”

“You thought I’d leave?”

“... Yeah.” 

“Well,” Demetri lightly slapped his thighs. “I still got what I wanted. I’m not exactly _dateless_. I haven’t been for the past seven years.”

“Yeah, well… this one’s different. Valentine’s Day’s for people who _have_ people to love.”

“What am I here for?”

“Pity.”

“I’m here for a different reason.”

Hawk paused, slowly glancing at him as his head followed suit. “What?” 

Demetri grabbed his unfinished beer bottle and drank from it, before uttering his words. “A few months back—sometime in August or September, I think—Moon and I partnered up for Science homework.” He drank again, rationing the liquid with his upper lip closed in. “Before the Science project. After a few worksheets, we got to talk, and ultimately, you can guess it was about you. We even talked about how your mohawk started to grow as a second head. I told her it was a nest.” Demetri chuckled lowly, yet bitterly.

Hawk was listening intently, sighing heavily through his nose. 

“Next thing that happened was she started crying… and I had no idea my eyes were fooling me. I just felt some drops on my hands. And parts of it… hurt, man. This wasn’t verbatim, by the way, but she said something along the lines of: _‘If only he could see the way we saw him— how beautiful he was. That_ that’s _what made me love him. But he had his demons he needed to deal with, and I’m not the one who can save him from it._ ’”

Hawk looked up at the sky and saw a bed of stars glistening, almost too brightly, and his eyes welled. The beer bottle at this point was beside his limp hand.

Demetri gazed at the distance. “Then she told me I could be the one to _change_ you. It got me thinking, _How’s Eli any different from Hawk, anyway?_ The answer is… nothing. It’s still two sides of the same coin. He’s still the same best friend I… _have cared for so much_ … It’s the same guy I had my first recess with as a new student.” Demetri’s eyes were welling up to the brim, but hadn’t realized it because he continued speaking as if the other boy wasn’t there. “I gave up ever trying to revel in those memories back then, because… I knew there was something different. It’s _Hawk_ now. So maybe even if _Hawk_ was the one who likes me than Eli, I’m okay with it—” 

Slowly, Hawk rose and placed his knees in between Demetri’s, leaned over to close in the space between them and their mouths, hands pinned from either of his shoulders. As the cold wind blew, so did Hawk’s hair, almost covering most of their faces. What supported the quiet space was the soothing sound of running fountain water.

His lips were soft, Demetri thought to himself, despite the scar, and it took him a moment’s pause to respond before succumbing to the kiss. To some degree, it was more heartfelt and gentle than the fiery passion he’d expect from Hawk… _gentle, like Eli_. The scrawny boy was the one to deepen the kiss, feeling the texture of his scar, tasting beer in every swipe of the tongue. His hands snaked under Hawk’s arms and gripped onto his toned shoulders.

When Hawk broke away first, he saw Demetri’s face fall, eyes wet and drop with tears. He wasn’t sure if it was the good kind, either, but the hand that slithered around his shoulder blades tightened, as if to say he didn’t want to let go. But eventually he did. Hawk sat back beside him and drank the beer… 

Before looking at his kneecap and cursing lowly. Chocolate got on his pants. Naturally, Demetri burst out and laughed mockingly before Hawk sported an unamused scowl.

“Laugh it up, _Mancusso_ ,” Hawk stood up, examining the rest of his stained pants. “But... thank you. Now,” He kicked the tip of his shoe by Demetri’s thigh. “Show me what you’ve been practicing. Bet you that _kata_ shit won’t serve you tonight.” It was an order, but Demetri saw through him when he smiled at his words.

Demetri rose a brow in confusion either way. “So _that’s it_ ? God, you have the _worst build up_ on this side of town, _Moskowitz_.”

“Shut your trap and stand up!” 

“Okay, geez! No need to get all sassy.” 

The common expression, as the old folks have been saying, is that time flies when you’re having fun. But for Hawk, time froze in their personal hideaway. Though well-removed from the old Eli, the present Hawk held the truth that his best friend chose to give him. _He was worthy of being loved, too,_ just as much as he showed the same to Demetri, albeit flawed and unsure. And in the case of Demetri, he regretted looking further beyond who was meant to be beside him through and through. A kick to the face, and a broken arm later, the red strings of fate decided to bunch up and had the boys try again. 

The tournament was slated to happen sometime in the next three months, and that came with extensive preparation. But by the conjoined power of Hawk and Demetri, no matter what lies ahead, these two nerds would be unstoppable, along with the kids at the joint dojo. _Crouching tiger, hidden dragon, and all that._

A huge blanket of stars shone faintly from above as they prepared their stances: Demetri’s hips locked, right foot forward and left, behind. Hawk fixed his own, right hand clenched in a fist and right palm, flat open. 

“You ready, _Moskowimp_ ?” Demetri asked, smirking.

Hawk grinned deviously. 

“Bring it on, _Meathead_.”

_Happy Valentine’s Day.  
_

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Sam and Hawk aren't technically buddies pre-fic, but I thought: ehh, I really needed that solidarity. So that happened.  
> 2\. Bisexual Yasmine or nothing. I would have loved to give her more humanity, but this isn't a Yasmine-centric fic.  
> 3\. I decided to go with _Mancusso_ for Demetri's last name as a reference to his Instagram handle, _DMan2002_. I don't know about you, but it works.  
> 4\. _Meat_ , in my headcanon, is Hawk's nickname to Demetri, contrary to most of the fanon's _Dem_ (I'm a quarter sorry for it). Meat is to Hawk in Hawkmeat as Demetri is to Eli in Demeli.  
> 5\. Demetri isn’t that financially packed; in fact, he saves up in every way he can for his hobbies, so you can tell how much stress he had to go through to buy a bomber jacket that didn't even get removed for hot sex. HOWEVER, deep down… Hawk found that hot. Calling it. 
> 
> Leave some love in the comments if you liked this! I’m getting ready for a Lawrusso spin-off, as well as the next installment of [What We Owe To Each Other](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112357) (if you haven’t read the first two, you still have time). Happy Valentine’s Day today and forever, Binary Babies!


End file.
